THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 


"  Nao  moved  out  upon  a  huge  platform  of  rock  and 
we  watched  the  Dyak  wave  the  torch  above  his  head." 


THE  INTERNATIONAL 
ADVENTURE  LIBRARY 


THREE  OWLS  EDITION 


THE 
SPOTTED  PANTHER 


BY 
JAMES  FRANCIS  DIVER 

Author  of 

"The  White  Waterfall" 

"Bust  of  Lincoln" 

Etc. 


W.  R.  CALDWELL  &  CO. 
NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1913,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 

COPYRIGHT,  1913,  THE  RANK  A.  HTTNSEY  CO. 


TO 

MY  BROTHER 
JACK 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACE 

I.  The  House  of  the  Dream  Smoke     .  3 

II.  The  Wonder  Chalice       ....  15 

III.  The  White  Mias 32 

IV.  A  Cross  in  the  Jungle    ....  47 
V.  We  Take  Another  Partner  ...  62 

VI.  The  Mouths  of  Boorsh  ....  74 

VII.  One-Who-Never-Slept     ....  85 

VIII.  The  Spotted  Panther      ....  98 

IX.  The  Poisoned  Dart    .....  no 

X.  We  See  the  Moon  of  Blood        .     .124 

XL  The  Great  Parong 136 

XII.  A  White  Claw 148 

XIII.  Nine  Heads 159 

XIV.  The  Passage  in  the  Cliff  ....  169 
XV.  The  Challenge 179 

XVI.  The  Great  Fight 197 

XVII.  The  Prophetess 210 

XVIII.  The  Call  of  the  Orang  Capello  .      .  220 

XIX.  When  Templeton  Fought  Alone       .  232 

XX.  The  Passage  of  the  Glow-worms      .  250 

XXI.  The  Black  Curtain 260 

XXII.  How  the  Panther  Came  Back    .      .  276 

XXIII.  Love  Rules  the  World   ....  284 

vii 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DREAM  SMOKE 

TO  THE  man  who  thinks  that  the  United 
States  of  America  is  the  milk  and  honey 
section  of  the  world,  and  that  New  York  is 
the  centre  of  that  section,  there  is  no  news  that  could 
be  more  distressing  than  the  knowledge  that  he  is  as 
far  away  from  that  centre  as  he  can  possibly  get. 
Chico  Morgan  made  this  discovery  on  the  summer 
evening  that  he  worked  out  the  geographical  position 
of  Banjermassin.  Broadway  was  as  far  to  the  east 
as  it  was  to  the  west,  and  Chico  cursed  softly  as  the 
home-longing  produced  by  the  discovery  bit  into 
his  soul. 

"Just  think,"  he  growled,  "we've  got  the  soles  of 
our  shoes  directly  opposite  the  soles  of  the  shoes 
worn  by  the  fellows  who  are  tramping  up  and  down 
the  White  Way,  and  what  is  more,  we  haven't  got 
the  money  to  get  one  step  nearer  home. " 

Chico's  statement  was  the  plain  truth.  New  York 
was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  world,  and  we  were 
financially  incapable  of  lessening  the  intervening 

3 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 


distance  by  a  single  league.  Up  before  our  mental 
eyes  came  pictures  of  miles  of  electric-lighted  streets 
with  whining  trolley  cars  and  goblin-eyed  automobiles, 
and  Morgan  thoughtfully  doused  the  slush  lamp  lest 
one  of  us  might  notice  the  suspicious  moisture  in  the 
eyes  of  the  other.  There  is  no  hunger  like  the  home- 
hunger. 

After  a  long  silence,  Chico  spoke.  "Let's  take  a 
walk  around,"  he  said.  "This  room  is  like  a  fur 
nace." 

We  stumbled  down  the  rickety  stairs  and  out  into 
the  narrow  street  that  appeared  to  be  crammed  full 
of  the  real  extract  of  gloom.  The  occasional  lamp 
that  blinked  fearfully  at  a  corner  seemed  to  fight  for 
existence  against  the  encompassing  darkness,  and  the 
houses  were  blotted  out  with  the  thick  blanket  of 
the  tropical  night.  Upon  the  little  pufFs  of  air  that 
came  prowling  up  the  Banjer  from  the  Java  Sea  were 
all  the  odours  of  the  East.  Smells  of  spices,  of  wet 
earth,  bean-oil,  marigolds,  incense,  and  burning 
punk  came  to  our  nostrils,  and  we  longed  with  the 
longing  of  the  exile  for  the  clean  sweet  smells  of  the 
home  country  that  was  so  far  away. 

There  is  a  curious  sense  of  expectancy  in  a  tropic 
night.  The  earth  seems  to  be  in  a  state  of  fever, 
and  one  waits  for  a  change  with  the  anxiety  of  a  nurse 
at  the  bedside  of  a  patient.  And  that  peculiar  feeling 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DREAM  SMOKE  5 

went  with  Chico  Morgan  and  me  on  that  night 
through  the  streets  of  the  old  Dutch  town  of  Banjer- 
massin.  The  dark,  crooked  streets  were  the  abodes 
of  mystery,  and  the  whispers  that  came  from  stoops 
and  passageways  where  a  mixed  population  gasped 
in  various  stages  of  deshabille,  stirred  us  strangely 
as  we  walked  along. 

"When  I  get  back,"  stammered  Chico,  addressing 
a  row  of  tamarind  trees  that  lined  the  street, 
"I'll  never  stray  farther  than  Fort  George  or 
Coney!  Honest!  I  won't!  These  leagues  of  space 
that  lie  between  us  and  the  Battery  make  me  feel 
as  if  I  had  been  sandbagged  every  time  I  think  of 
them." 

"You'll  stay  about  three  weeks,"  I  suggested. 
"Three  weeks  or  less." 

"I'll  stay  the  rest  of  my  life!"  he  roared  indig 
nantly.  "I'll  never " 

We  stopped  and  pushed  our  heads  forward. 
From  a  little  dark  alley  came  the  faint  sounds  of  a 
phonograph,  and  we  listened  eagerly.  The  instru 
ment  was  sending  into  the  spice-scented  air  of  Ban- 
jermassin  a  tune  that  set  our  blood  tingling. 

"Great  Scott!"  growled  Chico.  "Do  you  hear 
that?" 

"Of  course  I  hear  it!"  I  answered.  "Some 
Dutchman  has  got  a  bunch  of  American  records,  and 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 


he's  entertaining  his  friends  with  the  '  Star  Spangled 
Banner.'" 

"We'll  call  on  him,"  said  Morgan.  "It's  possible 
—  barely  possible  —  that  we  might  find  a  millionaire 
from  Newport  who  has  a  yacht  tied  up  somewhere 
in  the  harbour." 

Chico  turned  into  the  dark  alleyway,  and  I  fol 
lowed  without  protest.  The  search  for  the  phono 
graph  and  its  owner  would  take  our  thoughts  for  the 
time  being  from  the  contemplation  of  the  films  of 
home  scenes  which  memory  unwound,  and  that  was 
something  to  be  thankful  for.  Besides,  it  was  barely 
possible  that  we  would  find  a  countryman,  not  a 
millionaire,  as  Morgan  suggested,  but  some  recruit 
of  the  American  legion  of  devil-may-care  that  sits 
upon  the  rim  of  the  earth  and  whose  members  look 
toward  God's  Country  with  the  same  reverence  that 
the  good  Mahommedan  looks  toward  the  Kaaba  of 
Mecca. 

The  phonograph  had  stopped  playing  before  we 
had  taken  ten  paces  down  the  alley,  but  through  the 
shutters  of  a  shack,  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  passage, 
rays  of  light  shot  out  into  the  night  like  the  white 
spears  of  crusaders,  and  Chico  Morgan  and  I  silently 
approached  the  apertures  through  which  the  light 
was  streaming.  The  East  breeds  curiosity,  and  we 
had  no  compunction  about  playing  the  part  of  Peep- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DREAM  SMOKE  7 

ing  Toms  in  our  endeavour  to  find  out  who  owned 
the  phonograph  whose  squeaky  voice  annihilated 
space. 

The  room  into  which  we  looked  was  an  opium  den 
of  the  lowest  kind.  Chinese,  Dyaks,  Javanese,  and 
filthy  Hindus  sprawled  upon  the  plaited  fibre  mats 
that  were  spread  upon  the  floor,  while  immediately 
beneath  our  peepholes,  and  so  close  that  we  could 
have  touched  him  with  our  hands  if  the  spyholes 
had  been  large  enough  to  insert  our  arms,  lay  a 
white  man. 

There  was  no  mistake  about  his  colour.  The 
attendant  Mongolian  had  just  prepared  his  "pill," 
and  the  light  from  the  little  brass  lamp  fell  full  upon 
his  face.  It  was  fearfully  emaciated,  the  skin  hang 
ing  loosely  upon  the  bones,  while  the  long,  lean 
hands  that  clutched  at  the  pipe  appeared  to  be  semi- 
transparent  as  he  waved  them  between  us  and  the 
flickering  flame. 

For  a  full  minute  we  had  an  undisturbed  view  of 
the  place.  The  small  cheap  phonograph  stood  on  a 
raised  dais  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  and  upon  this 
dais  sat  the  Mongolian  proprietor  of  the  outfit. 
The  smokers  were  silent,  except  for  the  occasional 
muttering  of  a  drugged  dreamer,  but  while  we  peeped 
through  the  chinks  in  the  matchwood  and  attap 
walls,  the  dead  silence  of  the  place  was  shattered  in 


8  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

a  startling  manner.  A  wild  roar  came  from  a  cur 
tained  opening  at  the  rear  of  the  dais,  and  next 
instant  the  curtain  was  torn  aside,  and  a  whirling 
mass  of  fighting  men  was  flung  into  the  big  room. 
For  a  moment  we  could  see  nothing  but  flying  legs 
and  arms,  then  our  startled  eyes  gripped  the  mean 
ing  of  the  tornado.  A  red-headed  white  man  of 
tremendous  proportions,  possessing  the  limbs  of  a 
Greek  god  and  the  fighting  face  of  a  Viking,  was 
battling  his  way  up  the  room,  and  hanging  to  him 
like  wolves  to  a  buffalo  were  a  dozen  screaming 
Chinamen  and  Malays! 

Chico  Morgan  smothered  an  exclamation  and 
pressed  his  face  close  to  the  observation  hole.  A 
fight  always  interested  Chico,  and  it  was  a  battle 
royal  that  we  were  looking  at  just  then.  That  red 
headed  man  tossed  the  brown  and  yellow  vermin 
in  all  directions  as  he  fought  his  way  toward  the 
mat  where  the  emaciated  white  man  fumbled  with  his 
opium  pipe.  My!  wasn't  he  a  fighter!  That  place 
was  a  warren  that  belched  forth  assailants  at  the 
command  of  the  fat  Mongolian  upon  the  dais,  but 
Redhead  towered  above  them  like  a  battleship  above 
a  swarm  of  pirate  junks.  I  thrilled  as  I  watched 
him.  He  was  a  mighty  man.  The  arms  he  swung 
were  such  as  Ajax  might  have  envied,  and  each 
time  one  of  his  tremendous  fists  crashed  against  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DREAM  SMOKE  9 

head  of  a  nigger,  there  was  one  assailant  less  in  that 
place  of  smells  and  deviltry.  Right  and  left  those 
screaming  natives  got  the  sledgehammer  blows,  and 
the  giant  with  the  red  head  roared  defiance  at  them. 
He  was  a  glorious  fighter. 

"Jumping  jigsaws!"  I  cried.  "Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  man?" 

Chico  Morgan  did  not  reply  to  my  question,  and 
when  I  turned  to  search  for  him  he  was  gone.  I 
jumped  back  to  the  spyhole  and  looked.  Chico  had 
forgotten  Broadway.  He  had  his  big  back  to  the 
back  of  Redhead,  and  they  were  fighting  like  the 
Seven  Devils  that  guard  the  one  door  of  escape  that 
leads  from  the  Malayan  hell! 

I  am  treasuring  within  my  mind  the  memory 
pictures  of  that  battle  so  that  I  may  warm  my  blood 
with  them  in  the  winter  of  my  old  age.  It  was  a 
fight  that  Homer  would  have  put  into  jewelled 
phrases.  There  were  never  two  gladiators  like 
Chico  Morgan  and  Redhead,  and  they  swept  up 
that  room  like  a  tornado,  sending  Malays,  Chinese, 
and  greasy  Hindus  sprawling  backward  from  their 
punches. 

The  white  man  on  the  bench  immediately  beneath 
my  spyhole  stared  at  the  battle  with  opium-dulled 
eyes.  Although  he  was  only  a  few  feet  from  the 
hole  through  which  I  watched  the  fight,  the  screams 


io  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

of  the  natives  prevented  him  from  hearing  the  insane 
yells  of  encouragement  I  shouted  through  the  aper 
ture.  I  must  confess  that  I  had  no  desire  to  join  in 
the  fray  at  that  moment,  and  I  am  unable  to  give 
a  reason.  The  manner  in  which  those  two  were 
disposing  of  their  foes  fascinated  me  to  such  an  extent 
that  I  could  not  move  from  the  spot  where  I  was 
standing. 

The  pair  of  giants  reached  the  white  opium- 
smoker,  the  mob  still  attacking,  but  now  somewhat 
wary  of  the  four  fists  that  smote  like  the  hammer  of 
Thor  whenever  a  body  came  within  hitting  distance. 
The  fat  Mongolian  proprietor  was  shrieking  protes 
tations  against  the  invasion  and  endeavouring  to 
urge  his  henchmen  to  the  attack,  but  the  half-naked 
retainers  were  none  too  anxious  to  clinch  with  the 
fighting  pair. 

"Come  on!"  roared  Chico.  "Come  on,  you 
yellow  scum !  I'd  fight  a  million  of  you ! " 

Redhead  glanced  at  Morgan,  smiled  like  a  big 
boy,  then  stooping  swiftly,  he  put  his  arms  around 
the  emaciated  white  man  with  the  opium  pipe,  and 
with  a  laughing  cry  to  Chico  he  turned  to  fight  his 
way  back  to  the  door. 

I  came  to  life  at  that  moment.  Racing  round  the 
shack,  I  dashed  through  the  door  and  down  the  long 
room,  shrieking  to  Redhead  as  I  ran.  He  under- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DREAM  SMOKE         n 

stood  at  once  that  I  was  a  friend.  Very  tenderly  he 
passed  me  the  thin  form  of  the  opium  smoker,  and 
then  with  Chico  upon  one  side  and  Redhead  upon 
the  other  we  dashed  for  the  door. 

"Pound  them!"  roared  Morgan. 

"Straight  punches!"  shouted  Redhead.  "We've 
got  them  scared!" 

Now  as  I  write  this  narrative  I  am  wondering 
which  of  those  two,  Chico  or  Redhead,  was  the 
greatest  fighter,  and  as  I  look  back  upon  that  fight 
in  the  opium  den,  and  the  other  fights  when  they 
battled  against  greater  odds  than  they  faced  at  their 
first  meeting,  I  am  in  doubt  as  to  which  was  the 
better  man.  I  know  well  that  Chico  Morgan  would 
never  admit  defeat,  but  when  I  tell  of  the  prowess  of 
the  red-headed  man  we  met  that  evening  at  Banjer- 
massin,  the  person  who  reads  this  narrative  will 
understand  that  the  two  were  the  kind  of  men  who 
would  have  led  their  tribes  to  battle  in  the  days 
when  the  world  was  young.  When  we  forget  how 
to  fight  we  will  be  on  our  way  back  to  the  jellyfish 
state  that  we  emerged  from  five  million  years  ago. 
Aggressiveness  is  life  itself.  The  men  who  are  fear 
less  are  big  men,  and  the  good  Lord  never  made  two 
bigger  men  than  the  two  who  battled  back  to  back  in 
the  filthy  opium  den  by  the  banks  of  the  Banjer. 

As  we  neared  the  door  a  naked  Kling  sprang  for- 


12  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

ward,  a  short  knife  lifted  high  in  his  muscular  hand. 
His  evident  intention  was  to  drive  the  broad  blade 
into  the  thin  white  man  we  were  endeavouring  to 
take  from  the  place,  but  Chico  Morgan  thwarted  the 
intention.  The  Kling  received  Chico's  big  fist  upon 
the  jaw,  and  he  was  lifted  clean  off  his  feet  and 
hurled  against  the  matchboard  walls  with  a  force  that 
shook  the  shack.  Redhead  unloosed  a  grim  chuckle, 
but  as  he  laughed,  the  fat  proprietor  of  the  place 
hurled  a  small  teakwood  table  at  the  hanging  lamp, 
and  the  wild  melee  was  blotted  out  by  the  darkness. 

It  was  at  that  critical  moment  that  the  opium 
smoker  came  out  of  his  stupor.  "This  way,  Lord 
Edwin!"  he  shouted,  as  he  wriggled  out  of  my  arms. 
"This  way!"  , 

The  thin  one  knew  that  place  like  a  blind  man 
knows  his  bedroom.  Clinging  to  my  arm  and 
shrieking  to  Redhead,  he  reached  the  door  while  the 
mob  rolled  over  us  like  a  wave.  I  wrenched  the 
Dutch  lock  from  the  thin  boards,  and  with  a  head 
ringing  from  a  blow  with  a  mallet,  I  tumbled  out  into 
the  cool  night  air. 

"Chico!"  I  yelled.     "Here,  boy!    This  way!" 

Morgan  came  through  the  opening  with  a  rush 
that  sent  me  sprawling,  then  the  red-headed  man 
battled  through  like  a  big  hippopotamus,  kicking 
viciously  at  a  sinewy  Chinaman  who  clung  to  his 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DREAM  SMOKE         13 

right  leg.  Round  the  shack  to  the  alley  we  raced 
together,  Redhead  and  I  supporting  the  smoker, 
while  Chico  discouraged  the  advance  guard  of  the  foe. 

"Can  you  run,  Phillip?"  asked  the  big  man, 
stooping  over  the  rescued  one. 

"Run,  Lord  Edwin?"  gasped  the  other.  "No, 
I  can't  run!  My  running  days  are  over.  Clear  out 
and  leave  me!  You'll  get  into  trouble  for  this 
business!" 

Redhead  ignored  the  advice  by  seizing  the  smoker 
around  the  waist,  swinging  him  to  his  shoulder  as  if 
he  were  a  child,  and,  with  Chico  and  me  at  his  heels, 
dashing  into  the  soft  night.  A  thousand  odours 
floated  upon  the  heavy  air.  Punk  and  incense, 
flower  perfumes  and  the  sour  odours  of  mudbanks 
made  strata  through  which  we  rushed  madly,  Red 
head  running  with  no  apparent  effort  and  paying  no 
attention  to  the  gurgled  protests  of  the  man  upon 
his  shoulders. 

We  zigzagged  through  narrow  passages,  splashed 
through  wet  places  where  the  water  from  the  river 
had  swamped  the  track,  and  wriggled  knee-deep  in 
mud  through  a  mire  that  threatened  to  engulf  us. 
Once  we  stopped  for  an  instant  and  listened  intently. 
From  behind  came  the  faint  plap-plap  of  pursuing 
feet,  and  the  big  man  cursed  softly  as  he  made  a 
movement  to  lower  his  burden.  Chico  understood 


14  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

that  movement.  He  slipped  back  into  the  darkness, 
and  after  a  short  interval  there  came  to  our  ears  a 
yelp  of  pain,  the  quickened  patter  of  bare  feet  in  hot 
retreat,  then  Morgan's  returning  footsteps. 

"All  right,"  he  muttered.  "It  was  only  a  China 
man.  Here,  let  me  lend  you  a  hand  to  carry  your 
friend." 

"No,  no,"  said  Redhead.  "He's  no  weight  at  all. 
He's  light." 

"Light?"  chuckled  the  smoker.  "Of  course  I'm 
light!  Hee,  hee!  I'm  all  smoke!  All  smoke!" 

Redhead  muttered  something  beneath  his  breath, 
and  we  ran  on.  On  and  on  we  went,  through  the 
waiting  night,  through  the  dark  passageways,  and 
as  we  ran  we  forgot  Broadway  with  its  whining 
trolley  cars  and  goblin-eyed  autos  of  which  we  had 
been  dreaming  an  hour  before. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   WONDER   CHALICE 

rWAS  the  opium  smoker  who  called  a  halt, 
slipping  from  the  shoulder  of  Redhead,  he 
>pened  a  wooden  door  in  a  wall  that  was 
thickly  covered  with  wistaria  and  Bougainvillea,  and 
we  followed  him  into  the  inclosure. 

"This  way, "  he  murmured.     " Keep  close  to  me. " 

With  Redhead  supporting  him,  he  stumbled  along 
narrow  pathways  bordered  with  tropical  flowers 
whose  sweet  odours  half  intoxicated  us.  It  was  a 
place  that  naiads  and  dryads  might  choose  for  a 
romping  ground,  and  the  silvery  tinkle  of  fountains 
came  to  our  ears  with  the  drowsy  murmur  of  wood 
doves  that  our  steps  disturbed. 

"Steady,"  muttered  the  opium  smoker.  "There 
are^steps  here. " 

Chico  Morgan  and  I  followed  up  the  half  dozen 
steps,  and  found  ourselves  upon  the  piazza  of  a 
bungalow  that  was  completely  hidden  by  the  luxuri 
ant  tropical  growth.  And  at  that  moment,  just  as 
we  considered  the  adventure  at  an  end  as  far  as  we 


16  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

were  concerned,  the  red-headed  man  thought  it  an 
opportune  time  to  introduce  himself. 

"My  name  is  Edwin  Templeton,"  he  said  quietly. 
it  pm » 

"Lord  Edwin  Templeton,"  corrected  the  opium 
smoker,  as  he  fumbled  with  a  key.  "  Lord  Edwin 
Templeton,  I  say!" 

"There  are  no  titles  where  you  and  I  are  con 
cerned,"  said  the  big  man,  gripping  Chico's  hand. 
"You  fight  too  well  for  any  fool  prefixes  to  be  be 
tween  us.  I'm  plain  Templeton,  orJRed,  if  you  like 
a  shorter  word. " 

Chico  Morgan  laughed  the  easy,  unabashed  laugh 
of  the  carefree  man  as  he  returned  the  grip.  "I'm 
glad  there's  no  title,"  he  said  quietly.  "We're  not 
in  the  habit  of  using  them  much  out  our  way.  My 
name  is  Chico  Morgan,  and  this  is  my  mate,  Jack 
Lenford." 

"Americans?"  asked  Templeton. 

"Sure,"  answered  Chico;  then,  as  if  the  question 
brought  back  the  attack  of  homesickness,  he  added : 
"And  mighty  sorry  that  we're  so  far  away  from  the 
home  country." 

The  opium  smoker,  still  protesting  against  the 
omission  of  Templeton's  title,  had  managed  to 
unlock  the  door,  and  Redhead  motioned  us  to  enter 
the  wide  hall  of  the  bungalow.  But  Chico  Morgan 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  17 

demurred.  The  fight  being  over,  and  all  danger  of 
pursuit  out  of  the  question,  he  had  no  further  interest 
in  the  proceedings,  and  he  attempted  to  excuse  him 
self. 

But  the  Englishman  had  no  thought  of  letting 
Morgan  escape  so  easily.  He  gripped  Chico's  arm 
as  we  attempted  to  back  away,  and  his  heavy  voice 
boomed  through  the  night. 

"Do  you  think  I  could  have  fought  my  way  out 
of  that  place  without  your  help?"  he  cried.  "Here! 
stop !  Have  you  got  any  engagements  ? " 

"None,"  answered  Chico.  "We  came  down 
from  Singapore  in  The  Light  of  Asia,  jumped  her  here 
because  he  had  a  difference  with  the  mate,  and  now 
we're  watching  the  horizon  to  grab  the  first  oppor 
tunity  that  will  bring  us  within  range  of  Sandy 
Hook." 

Templeton  gave  a  gurgle  of  joy,  and  his  grip 
tightened.  "  I  can  put  you  next  to  the  opportunity," 
he  cried.  "Come  inside.  I  want  a  man  or  two, 
and  by  the  Toe  of  Buddha!  you're  going  to  fill  one 
of  the  jobs." 

He  half  dragged  Chico  into  the  hall  of  the  bunga 
low,  and  I  followed.  The  place  was  lighted  by  a 
hanging  lamp  of  hammered  silver,  and  the  soft 
light  fell  upon  Chinese  embroideries  that  covered  the 
walls.  Ebony  settees  curiously  inlaid  with  mother- 


i8  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

of-pearl  stood  upon  each  side,  while  the  curtain 
that  separated  the  hall  from  the  room  which  the 
opium  smoker  had  entered  bore  a  representation  of 
Buddha  sitting  beneath  a  bo-tree,  the  whole  piece 
outlined  with  Burmese  spinels  that  sparkled  in  the 
lamplight. 

The  protesting  high-pitched  voice  of  the  opium 
smoker  came  from  the  room  as  Templeton  reached 
the  curtain,  and  then  our  ears  caught  the  sound  of  a 
woman's  voice  pleading  with  him  like  a  mother 
pleads  with  her  child.  The  Englishman  entered  the 
room  with  Chico  and  me  at  his  heels,  the  look  upon 
Morgan's  face  proving  to  me,  if  not  to  Templeton, 
that  he  had  an  inclination  to  bolt  from  the  premises. 
Upon  a  couch  at  one  side  of  the  room  was  the  opium 
smoker,  and  sitting  beside  him  was  a  girl  of  wonder 
ful  beauty,  whose  white,  shapely  hand  stroked  the 
worn  face  of  the  debauchee  at  her  side.  Although 
the  haggard  face  of  the  man  was  different  from  hers 
as  one  face  could  possibly  be  from  another,  yet  the 
brows  of  the  two,  and  the  whimsical  expression  of 
the  mouth,  peculiar  to  both,  proclaimed  a  relation 
ship. 

The  girl  rose  quickly  as  Chico  and  I  entered  the 
room,  and  Templeton  introduced  us. 

"These  are  two  good  Americans  who  helped  me  a 
little  to-night,  Evelyn,"  he  explained.  "Mr.  Mor- 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  19 

gan  and  Mr.  Lenford,  this  is  our  friend's  sister, 
Miss  Courtney. " 

"And  I'm  Phillip  Courtney,"  mumbled  the  man 
on  the  couch.  "I  always  introduce  myself.  By 
George!"  he  cried,  turning  to  Chico,  "you're  the 
greatest  fighter,  excepting  Lord  Edwin,  that  I  ever 
saw !  Absolutely  the  best ! " 

The  girl  touched  a  bell,  and  a  Chinaman  answered 
the  summons.  She  instructed  him  to  bring  re 
freshments,  and  then  excusing  herself  on  account  of 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  she  left  the  room,  leaving 
the  four  of  us  together.  It  was  then  that  Chico  and 
I  had  our  first  good  look  at  Red  Templeton.  He  sat 
under  a  lamp  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  the  light 
fell  full  upon  his  remarkable  face.  It  was  an  extra 
ordinary  face.  The  eyes  were  clear  blue,  full  of 
a  boyish  innocence  and  brimming  over  with  life  and 
laughter,  but  the  nose,  jaw,  and  brow  gave  a  strength 
and  fighting  quality  to  the  face  that  told  the  observer 
that  the  laughter  in  the  blue  eyes  was  likely  to  dis 
appear  at  any  moment  that  the  fighting  devil  be 
neath  the  surface  announced  that  it  was  not  the 
proper  time  for  merriment.  To  me  he  appeared  a 
superman  on  that  evening,  and  the  impression  has 
never  altered.  A  man  too  big  for  the  petty  con 
ventions  of  the  life  he  had  been  born  to,  he  had 
thrown  that  life  aside  and  had  wooed  adventure 


2O  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

where  Romance  flies  her  flag  of  gold  on  the  rim  of 
the  earth.  His  was  the  true  patent  of  nobility.  He 
could  earn  his  right  to  lead  his  people  by  the  tre 
mendous  strength  in  the  big  arms  and  the  hallmark 
of  courage  that  one  observed  upon  his  face. 

For  about  thirty  minutes  he  plied  Chico  with 
questions  concerning  our  wanderings,  and  while  we 
conversed,  the  half  stupefied  Courtney  lay  upon 
the  couch  and  muttered  incoherently,  interrupting 
occasionally  with  a  question  or  remark  that  was 
totally  irrelevant  to  the  matter  we  were  discussing. 

"And  you  are  open  to  an  engagement?"  asked 
Templeton,  after  Chico  had  finished  a  recital  of  our 
wanderings. 

"I  guess  we  are,"  answered  Morgan.  "This  burg 
has  little  attraction  for  us. " 

Templeton  surveyed  Chico  for  a  full  minute,  a 
half  smile  showing  about  his  handsome  mouth,  then 
he  stood  up,  walked  toward  a  cabinet  at  the  end  of 
the  room,  unlocked  it,  took  something  from  within, 
and  started  back  to  us.  It  is  strange  that  every 
movement  he  made  in  approaching  that  cabinet  and 
returning  to  his  place  beneath  the  lamp  is  etched 
upon  my  mind  by  the  tremendous  happening  that 
immediately  followed.  The  mind  at  moments  of 
extraordinary  stress  is  peculiarly  sensitive  to  im 
pressions,  and  I  recall  now  how  Templeton  circled 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  21 

outside  the  light  of  a  silver  sconce  as  he  came  back 
to  us.  He  wished  to  produce  the  utmost  effect,  and 
he  was  successful.  Arriving  at  his  seat,  that  was 
immediately  beneath  the  lamp,  he  flung  back  the 
flap  of  his  coat  that  was  concealing  the  object  that 
he  carried,  and  we  saw! 

Now  on  a  summer  night  when  the  smell  of  wet 
earth  or  crushed  flowers  brings  back  to  my  mind 
that  night  in  Banjermassin,  I  dream  for  hours  of  the 
glory  that  we  saw.  I  shall  dream  of  it  till  I  die. 
Perhaps,  like  the  Burman  who  asked  that  he  might 
dream  of  the  Shwe  Dagon  Pagoda  after  he  reached 
the  paradise  of  the  faithful,  I  might  dream  of  that 
for  all  eternity. 

Chico  and  I  thrust  our  heads  forward  when  the  big 
Englishman  drew  back  his  coat,  and  we  gave  a  joint 
cry  of  wonder  that  roused  Courtney  from  his  stupor. 
Templeton's  hands  seemed  to  be  holding  a  chalice 
that  sent  out  white  spears  of  light  into  the  corners 
of  the  room,  and  we  choked  as  we  looked.  There 
was  never  anything  made  like  that.  Never!  It 
was  the  most  glorious  thing  that  has  ever  been 
created  by  the  hand  of  man,  and,  while  the  world 
is  a  world,  nothing  will  be  made  that  will  equal 
that. 

Chico  Morgan  broke  the  little  silence  that 
followed  the  gurgle  of  wonder  we  emitted 


22  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

when  we  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the  thing. 
Chico  stood  up,  made  a  movement  toward  Tem- 
pleton,  paused,  and  then  stood  with  both  hands 
extended. 

"The  Chalice!"  he  cried.  "The  Chalice  of 
Everlasting  Fire!" 

Red  Templeton  laughed  softly  as  he  watched 
Morgan's  face.  The  Englishman  was  pleased  at 
the  look  of  amazement  that  was  upon  Chico's 
sun-tanned  countenance. 

"YouVe  guessed  it,"  he  said  quietly.  "It  is 
the  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire!" 

Body  o'  me!  we  had  a  curious  feeling  just  then. 
It  seemed  as  if  we  had  waited  all  our  lives  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  that  thing  in  the  Englishman's  hands. 
It  was  extraordinary  what  effect  it  had  upon  us. 
We  seemed  to  drink  the  glory  and  the  beauty  of  it 
through  our  eyes  —  drink  it  in  to  satisfy  a  longing 
that  had  asserted  itself  suddenly.  It  seemed  as 
if  our  souls  had  been  waiting  for  a  glimpse  of  that 
wonder  chalice,  and  that  we  had  been  in  ignorance 
of  that  longing  till  the  thing  had  been  thrust  sud 
denly  before  us.  I  suppose  it  was  the  stories  of 
the  vessel  that  had  created  the  subconscious  appetite. 
In  the  peculiar  atmosphere  of  the  Orient  that 
chalice  had  lived  upon  the  spice-scented  breezes 
for  centuries.  Lived,  mind  you!  In  the  fo'c'stle 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  23 

of  every  blistered  tramp  that  hooted  off  nipa-palm 
villages  in  search  of  cargo,  the  Chalice  of  Everlasting 
Fire  was  the  subject  of  discussion.  Men  talked 
of  it  on  the  stinking  Wusung,  whispered  of  it  at 
the  pearl  fisheries  at  Thursday  Island,  and  dreamed 
of  it  as  they  looked  upon  the  snows  above  Darjeeling. 
It  had  a  dozen  names.  Dyak,  Kling,  Chinese, 
Jap,  Tamil,  Hindu,  Shan,  Khond,  and  Rajput  knew 
it  by  a  name  of  his  own.  It  was  the  Vessel  oj  Flame , 
the  Holy  Cup,  the  Burning  Pitcher,  the  Goblet  of 
Life,  and  a  dozen  other  names,  but  English  and 
American  sailors  and  rovers  spoke  of  it  as  the  Chalice 
of  Everlasting  Fire.  Somewhere  in  his  notes  on  the 
Malay  Archipelago,  Markham  has  alluded  to  the 
legend  as  an  Oriental  counterpart  of  the  story  of  the 
Holy  Grail,  and  when  we  saw  it  that  night  in  Ban- 
jermassin,  we  had  no  need  to  wonder  how  it  had 
led  its  seekers  to  think  of  it  as  the  miraculous  cup 
of  holy  legend, 

It  was  a  high  chalice  of  dull  red  gold,  the  gold 
that  one  sees  in  old  coins  of  the  East,  and  circling 
around  it  from  the  stem  to  the  rim  was  a  snake 
made  of  diamonds  of  extraordinary  brilliancy 
and  purity.  That  snake  was  alive!  As  we  looked 
at  it,  the  light  reflected  from  one  stone  to  another, 
seemed  to  run  along  the  serpent  like  a  tremor  of 
sparkling  fire,  while  the  glorious  stone  set  on  the 


24  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

rim  exchanged  stabs  of  light  with  its  counterpart 
set  in  the  very  bottom  of  the  cup.  Mother  o' 
me!  it  was  well  named!  As  we  looked  at  it  we 
knew  why  it  had  been  woven  into  the  chanties 
of  the  blunt-nosed  tramps,  the  songs  of  the 
Malay  pirates,  and  the  nasal  war  hymns  of  the 
Dyaks.  We  wondered  stupidly  how  any  one 
could  keep  the  whereabouts  of  the  marvellous 
thing  a  secret. 

It  was  Courtney,  the  opium  fiend,  who  roused  us 
from  the  torpor  which  the  sight  of  the  chalice  had 
brought  upon  us.  The  half-crazy  smoker  lifted 
himself  upon  one  elbow,  glanced  at  the  shining  cup, 
then  burst  into  a  fit  of  hysterical  laughter  that 
echoed  through  the  bungalow. 

"Put  it  away,  Lord  Edwin!"  he  screamed.  "Put 
it  away!  Take  it  out  of  my  sight!  It's  mine,  con 
found  you!  Don't  leave  it  there  or  it  will  drive 
me  crazy!" 

Templeton  pulled  a  screen  between  the  couch  and 
the  table  upon  which  the  chalice  rested,  and  Court 
ney  became  silent.  Red  sat  down  again  and  watched 
Chico.  The  white  fire  that  seemed  to  be  streaming 
continuously  up  the  body  of  the  snake  prevented  us 
from  moving  our  eyes  from  the  thing. 

Presently  Red  leaned  forward  and  put  a  question. 
"You  know  the  story  of  it?"  he  asked. 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  25 

Chico  wet  his  lips,  made  an  attempt  to  speak, 
failed,  wet  Ms  lips  again,  and  then  whispered  an 
answer. 

"A  part  of  it,"  he  breathed. 

It  was  peculiar  how  that  vessel  made  one  cau 
tious  about  raising  one's  voice.  I  suppose  all  truly 
magnificent  sights,  such  as  a  marvellous  dawn,  a 
wonderful  sunset,  a  snow-capped  mountain  or  a 
tremendous  chasm  have  a  quieting  effect  upon 
the  beholder,  and  that  chalice  had  the  same  effect 
upon  us.  We  wished  to  observe  it  in  complete 
silence,  and  Courtney's  hysterical  laughter  had 
jarred  us  exceedingly. 

Templeton  pulled  his  chair  closer  and  spoke  to  us 
in  a  low  voice.  "Do  you  know  when  it  slipped  out 
of  the  sight  of  white  men?"  he  asked.  "I  mean  the 
last  time  it  was  lost  to  the  outside  world." 

"Over  a  hundred  years  ago,  perhaps,"  answered 
Chico.  "Is  it  more?" 

Templeton  laughed  softly  and  stepped  across  to 
the  teakwood  table.  Very  tenderly  he  turned  the 
chalice  upside  down  and  pointed  to  an  inscription 
upon  the  bottom.  The  letters  were  graved  roughly, 
but  they  were  quite  distinct,  yet  the  words  were 
unintelligible  to  us. 

"It  is  Portuguese,"  said  Templeton.  "Shall  I 
translate?" 


26  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Chico  nodded  his  head,  and  Red  translated. 
The  inscription  ran: 

"  To  my  king,  Joam  II,  from 
Enrique  de  Gama,  who  is 
dying  in  the  Sea  of  China." 

"And  who  was  King  Joam  II?"  asked  Morgan. 

"The  king  of  Portugal  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth 
century,"  replied  Red.  "He  was  on  the  throne 
when  the  Portuguese  started  to  send  their  old 
galleons  around  the  world,  and  our  friend,  Enrique 
de  Gama,  wanted  to  send  this  little  present  to  him 
when  he  was  dying." 

"And  it  never  got  there?" 

"No;  and  it  is  the  reason  why  it  didn't  get  there 
that  interests  us  at  the  present.  After  Enrique 
de  Gama  died,  his  sailors  ran  the  ship  ashore  some 
where  between  here  and  the  straits  of  Pulo  Laut, 
and  do  you  know  what  happened  to  those  gentle 
mutineers?" 

"The  Lord  only  knows,"    murmured  Chico. 

"They  were  taken  prisoners  by  the  Kyans, 
the  Orang  Bukkit  tribes,  and  the  loot  and  the 
sailors  were  carried  up  into  the  hills." 

"And  —  and,"  stammered  Morgan,  "who  brought 
the  chalice  back  here?" 

Templeton  pointed  to  the  wreck  upon  the  couch. 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  27 

"He  did,"  he  answered.  "At  least  he  was  one  of 
the  two  that  brought  it  back." 

"And  the  other?" 

"Is  a  Hindu.  Courtney  remembers  very  little 
of  what  happened  to  him  from  the  time  he  got  lost 
at  the  headwaters  of  the  Barito,  but  Gung  knows. 
I'll  call  him." 

Templeton  touched  a  gong,  spoke  to  a  Dyak 
servant  who  entered,  and  then  flung  a  cloth  over 
the  chalice. 

"Gung  cannot  look  at  it,"  he  explained.  "He 
knows  its  history.  Enrique  de  Gama  gathered  the 
loot  from  a  Buddhist  temple  in  Kelantan,  and  only 
a  holy  man  can  look  at  this  thing.  Here  he  is." 

A  Hindu,  tall  and  muscular  looking,  with  a  long 
scar  extending  obliquely  from  the  bridge  of  the 
nose  to  the  left  jaw,  entered  the  room  with  noiseless 
feet.  His  beady  eyes  wandered  over  the  apart 
ment,  passed  over  Chico  Morgan  and  myself, 
then,  as  if  he  sensed  the  chalice,  he  fixed  his  gaze 
upon  the  cloth  which  Templeton  had  thrown  over 
it,  bowed  three  times,  and  started  to  chant  softly 
in  Hindustanee. 

Red  put  up  his  hand  to  silence  him  but  Gung  could 
not  be  silenced  till  he  had  made  his  invocation. 
When  that  was  concluded  he  was  the  servant  again 
and  he  stood  erect  waiting  for  orders. 


28  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Gung,"  said  Templeton,  moving  closer  to  the 
Hindu,  "I  want  you  to  tell  again  the  story  of 
what  happened  to  you  and  Sahib  Courtney.  Tell  it 
as  you  like.  Sit  down  here  and  take  your  own  time." 

The  Hindu  pushed  his  chair  as  far  from  the 
teakwood  table  as  he  possibly  could,  then  with 
another  bow  to  the  thing  beneath  the  cloth,^he 
started  to  speak. 

I  cannot  write  that  story  here.  No  one  could 
write  it  and  be  believed.  It  was  marvellous, 
extraordinary,  unbelievable.  And  yet,  although 
our  so-called  common  sense  tried  to  rise  up  and 
throw  back  the  statements  that  poured  into  our 
ears,  our  souls  knew  that  the  Hindu  was  telling 
the  truth.  Yes!  The  story  was  beyond  the  possibili 
ties  of  imagination.  No  brain  could  build  it  up.  It 
had  the  props  of  fact  beneath  it,  and  we  listened 
with  open  mouths  and  throbbing  hearts.  The 
narrative  dripped  truth,  and  when  the  Hindu 
chanted  away  in  the  stillness  of  that  room  with  the 
little  puffs  of  wind  carrying  the  old,  old  scents 
of  the  Orient  to  our  nostrils,  we  seemed  to  see 
everything  that  he  spoke  of.  What  a  story  it 
was!  Now  and  then  as  we  tried  to  shake  ourselves 
free  of  the  peculiar  spell  which  the  Hindu's  words 
put  upon  us,  the  story  seemed  to  rise  up  and  over 
whelm  us  with  its  novelty  and  force.  And  the 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  29 

Hindu  is  the  greatest  story-teller  in  the  world. 
He  creates  a  shadow  effect  about  his  paragraphs 
and  it  is  in  the  portions  of  his  narrative  that  he 
only  half  tells  that  the  imagination  can  dive  and 
drag  out  wonderful  thrills.  That  night  in  the 
bungalow  in  the  Garden  of  Dreams  we  heard  for 
the  first  time  of  the  Spotted  Panther,  of  the  White 
MiaSj  of  the  Parong  of  Buddha,  and  a  thousand 
other  matters  that  made  the  skin  upon  our  necks 
prickle  as  Gung  unfolded  his  tale.  It  was  a  terrible 
story. 

The  Hindu  finished  as  the  gray  dawn  crept  into 
the  room,  and  after  a  long  silence,  Chico  nodded 
to  the  object  that  was  underneath  the  cloth.  "And 
that  is  not  to  be  compared  with  the  Great  Parong," 
he  said  quietly. 

Gung  made  a  peculiar  noise  with  his  mouth, 
and  rolled  his  eyes  in  terror.  "There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  like  the  Great  Sword,"  he  murmured. 

"There  is  not,"  said  Templeton. 

Courtney  woke  at  that  moment,  and  he  stared 
at  us  with  stupid,  unseeing  eyes.  Suddenly  he 
stood  up  and  made  a  rush  at  the  Chalice  of  Ever 
lasting  Fire,  and  Gung,  horrified  at  the  thought 
of  the  wonderful  cup  being  uncovered  in  his  pres 
ence,  slipped  from  the  room  with  the  speed  of  a 
rock  snake. 


30  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Red  Templeton  took  no  notice  of  Courtney  as 
the  latter  caught  up  the  chalice  and  hugged  it 
to  his  bosom.  Templeton  was  looking  at  Chico, 
and  Morgan  read  the  longing  behind  the  blue  eyes 
as  he  returned  the  glance. 

"You  are  going  up?"  he  asked. 

Templeton  nodded.  "I'm  all  ready  to  go," 
he  answered.  "But  I  wanted  a  mate,  a  fighting 
mate,  and  by  the  beard  of  Mahomet,  you're  the  man 
I  want!" 

He  stood  up  and  put  out  his  hand,  and 
Chico  took  it.  They  were  two  big  men,  Amer 
ican  and  Englishman,  and  they  had  summed 
up  each  other's  worth.  With  the  insane  Court 
ney  hugging  the  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire, 
they  stood  face  to  face  and  their  grip  tight 
ened. 

Chico  Morgan  glanced  at  the  chalice  and  sighed 
softly.  The  first  beams  of  the  morning  sun  had 
found  their  way  through  the  window,  and  the 
snake  made  out  of  the  flashing  diamonds  seemed 
to  thrill  with  life  as  the  bright  rays  fell  upon  him. 
We  felt  sure  that  it  was  alive.  Gung  had  told 
us  that  it  represented  the  Serpent  of  Death 
that  drank  continuously  from  the  Chalice  of 
Life,  and  it  awed  us  at  that  moment.  And 
Red  Templeton  and  the  Hindu  had  asserted  that 


THE  WONDER  CHALICE  31 

the  value  of  the  Great  Parong  of  Buddha  was  a 
million  times  greater  than  the  value  of  the  Ves 
sel  of  Flame.  And  we  knew  that  they  spoke  the 
truth. 

"I'll  go,"  said  Chico.     "The  sooner  we  start  the 
better." 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    WHITE    MIAS 

WITH  a  desire  to  save  the  reader  from  any 
thing  that  might  seem  of  little  interest, 
I  am  omitting  a  detailed  account  of  the 
nineteen  days  that  elapsed  between  that  night  of  the 
fight  in  the  opium  den  at  Banjermassin  and  the 
afternoon  of  the  day  we  arrived  at  the  Place  of  Evil 
Winds.  They  were  nineteen  days  of  hard  travel, 
but  there  were  few  happenings  in  the  time  that 
were  worth  recording.  We  had  travelled  up  the 
Barito  to  its  headwaters,  crossed  the  "lallang," 
or  high  grass  plains,  and  had  entered  the  jungle 
fastnesses  of  the  Tawah  Mountains.  Gung  was 
our  only  guide  and  authority.  As  far  as  we  knew, 
Courtney,  the  opium  fiend,  and  the  mutineers 
from  the  ship  of  Enrique  de  Gama  were  the  only 
white  people  who  had  ever  travelled  over  that  region. 
The  interior  of  Borneo  is  unexplored  country,  more 
inaccessible  than  the  darkest  portions  of  Africa, 
and  ten  times  more  uncanny  to  the  person  who 
braves  its  silent  jungles  and  weird  plains.  Cross- 

32 


THE  WHITE  MIAS  33 

ing  the  grass-covered  stretches  our  ankles  were 
festooned  with  leeches,  and  the  pests  became  more 
troublesome  as  we  advanced.  The  ten  Dyaks  and 
Gung  rubbed  their  ankles  at  intervals  with  the  juice 
of  the  betel  nut,  and  Red  Templeton,  Chico,  and  I 
followed  their  example. 

The  Place  of  Evil  Winds  was  well  named. 
Whether  Gung's  imagination  was  responsible  for  the 
name,  or  whether,  as  he  persisted,  a  man  of  the 
Orang  Bukkit  tribe  had  translated  the  meaning  of 
the  Kyan  word  when  he  visited  the  place  with 
Courtney,  we  could  not  tell,  but  there  was  no 
name  that  could  be  more  appropriate.  It  was  a 
section  of  gray  desert,  wedged  in  between  walls 
of  surrounding  jungle,  and  that  spectral  patch  of 
sand  was  dotted  with  round  boulders  that  the 
Dyak  carriers  looked  at  with  aversion.  The  care 
which  they  exercised  in  keeping  clear  of  the  stones 
in  crossing  the  strip  of  desert  provoked  Temple- 
ton's  curiosity,  and  he  asked  a  question. 

"Why  are  they  dodging  the  rocks?"  he  asked. 

Gung,  the  fountain  of  wisdom,  unbosomed  him 
self.  "They  are  afraid,"  he  murmured.  "The 
fact  of  the  rocks  being  here  explains  why  the  breeze 
does  not  blow  upon  this  place." 

He  pointed  to  the  waving  tops  of  the  green  walls 
of  tapang,  mohor,  and  sandalwood  trees  that 


34  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

hemmed  us  in  on  all  sides,  then  he  wet  his  finger 
and  held  it  up. 

"There  is  no  breeze  here,"  he  said  quietly.  "The 
trees  are  bowing  to  the  south  wind,  but  it  does 
not  blow  in  this  place." 

Templeton  laughed.  "We're  sheltered  by  the 
trees,"  he  explained.  "They  act  as  a  barrier, 
that  is  why." 

Gung's  white  teeth  glistened  in  a  smile  that 
expressed  his  incredulity.  "We  think  it  is  these," 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  round  boulders.  "The 
wind  will  not  blow  upon  them.  They  are  the  ten 
thousand  sons  of  Prang,  and  they  slew  their  father. 
That  is  why  they  were  turned  into  stone  out  here 
in  the  waste  where  the  breezes  turn  aside  lest  they 
will  wake  them." 

Templeton  looked  at  Chico,  and  Chico  grinned. 
"Better  leave  them  alone,"  he  said.  "Their  be 
liefs  are  in  their  blood,  and  all  our  talking  wouldn't 
change  them  a  bit." 

I  remember  that  we  sat  conversing  late  that 
evening.  Within  our  brains  the  story  that  Gung 
had  told  to  us  that  night  in  Banjermassin  was 
rioting  madly.  That  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire 
was  always  before  our  minds,  and  a  score  of  times 
upon  the  journey  we  had  questioned  the  Hindu 
concerning  the  great  sword  with  the  emerald  handle 


THE  WHITE  MIAS  35 

that  was  called  the  Parong  of  Buddha.  There 
were  a  thousand  legends  told  concerning  that 
sword.  We  had  spoken  of  them  in  the  hot,  still 
nights,  and  we  prayed  that  Gung's  bump  of  loca 
tion  would  take  him  back  to  the  place  where  Court 
ney  and  he  had  purloined  the  chalice  from  the 
cave  that  was  close  to  the  kampong  of  the  Spotted 
Panther.  It  wasn't  a  treasure  hunt  that  we  had 
set  out  upon.  We  were  searching  for  something 
that  was  beyond  price.  The  Great  Parong  had 
been  plaited  into  the  history  of  the  Orient  so  that 
it  possessed  a  value  that  was  ten  thousand  times 
greater  than  the  mere  value  of  the  gold  and  pre 
cious  stones  of  which  it  was  composed. 

"You  cannot  put  a  value  upon  it,"  said  Chico, 
on  that  evening  we  camped  at  the  Place  of  Evil 
Winds. 

"Value?"  cried  Templeton,  as  he  crawled  under 
his  blanket.  "If  it  were  possible  —  if  it  were  possi 
ble,  I  say,  to  bring  the  Great  Parong  of  Buddha  to 
Benares  and  lay  it  in  the  Mosque  of  Arungzebee, 
there  would  be  a  revolution  in  India  inside  of  seven 
days!  Inside  of  seven  days,  mind  you!  The  news 
would  have  travelled  in  that  time  from  Calicut 
to  Chitral,  and  from  Quetta  to  Mandalay.  Great 
Scott,  man!  We  could  stir  three  hundred  million 
human  beings  in  a  way  that  would  make  them  push 


36  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

the  British  into  the  Bay  of  Bengal.  And  the  Brit 
ish  are  my  people!  I'm  a  Britisher,  but  I  must 
go  in  search  of  this  thing  if  it  wrecks  a  dozen 
empires.  I'm  going  to  get  some  sleep.  We've 
got  a  big  march  in  front  of  us  to-morrow." 

I  went  to  sleep  and  dreamed  a  dream  in  which 
I  thought  that  Chico  Morgan  and  Red  Templeton 
carried  the  Parong  of  Buddha  to  Benares,  but 
the  British  Government,  hearing  of  the  dis 
covery,  bribed  them  to  secrecy  by  making  them 
princes  of  the  Punjaub  and  Rajputana,  Sind,  and 
Nepal. 

Chico  broke  the  dream  by  prodding  me  gently 
with  the  toe  of  his  boot,  and  with  a  feeling  that 
something  had  gone  wrong  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 
A  moon,  white  and  scared-looking,  swung  above 
the  wall  of  sandalwood  and  ebony  trees,  and  every 
thing  was  washed  with  a  pale  light  that  made  it 
possible  to  see  across  the  stretch  of  open  desert 
upon  which  we  had  pitched  our  camp. 

Red  Templeton  and  Morgan  were  standing  side 
by  side,  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ten  Dyaks  and  the 
Hindu,  who  were  kneeling  in  a  little  cluster  upon 
the  sand. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  stammered.  "What 
is  wrong?" 

Templeton's   right  hand  was  upon  his  revolver 


THE  WHITE  MIAS  37 

as  he  turned  toward  me,  while  Chico  held  a  Win 
chester  ready. 

"Do  you  remember  Gung's  story  about  the  White 
Mias?"  asked  Red. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.     "What  about  it?" 

"Well,  these  infernal  lunatics  have  got  a  notion 
that  she  is  near.  We  don't  know  whether  Gung  has 
been  filling  their  heads  with  nonsense,  or  whether 
the  sight  of  some  big  orang-utan  has  unsettled 
their  nerves,  but  they're  half  crazy  with  fear." 

It  is  strange  how  the  mind  stores  a  remark  as  if 
awaiting  a  suitable  opportunity  of  calling  your 
attention  to  the  wisdom  stored  within  it,  and  which 
you  probably  failed  to  see  when  you  first  heard  it. 
My  mind  played  a  trick  of  that  kind  upon  me  at 
that  moment.  It  recalled  the  remark  of  Hooper, 
an  American  trader  at  Singapore,  a  man  who  had 
seen  more  than  any  other  ten  men  in  the  Orient. 
"Belief,"  said  Hooper,  "is  only  a  matter  of  stage 
setting.  If  you  have  the  right  atmosphere  for  a 
story  the  hearer  can  believe  anything." 

Now  on  that  night  at  Banjermassin  when  Gung 
told  of  the  big  White  Mias  who  came  down  out 
of  the  mountains  with  the  orang-utan  legion  to 
harry  the  Trings,  the  Orang  Bukkit,  Punans, 
and  other  sub-tribes  of  the  Kyans,  we  didn't  pay 
much  attention.  The  story  of  the  Chalice  of  Ever- 


38  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

lasting  Fire  and  the  treasure  which  Courtney  and 
the  Hindu  left  behind  them  in  the  hills  made  the 
tale  of  the  queen  of  the  orang-utans  a  minor  matter, 
but  when  I  stood  with  Templeton  and  Chico  watch 
ing  those  half  score  Dyaks  and  the  shivering  Gung, 
that  story  took  on  a  complexion  that  was  totally 
different.  The  fear  which  gripped  the  eleven 
seemed  to  come  out  to  us.  Templeton  and  Chico, 
two  men  who  had  faced  ten  thousand  dangers, 
watched  the  surrounding  jungle  with  keen  eyes,  and 
Red  cursed  softly  under  his  breath.  The  tops  of 
the  trees  were  still  waving  slightly  as  if  nodding 
to  us,  and  we  thought  of  Gung's  story  about  the 
wind  as  we  looked  at  all  points  of  the  compass. 

"That  infernal  Hindu  has  told  them  tales  till 
he  has  put  their  nerves  on  edge,"  growled  Temple- 
ton.  "Get  them  up j  Morgan!  They'll  work  them 
selves  into  a  state  of  hysteria  if  we  leave  them 
there  much  longer." 

Chico  and  I  were  just  longing  for  something  to 
do  at  that  moment,  and  we  started  in  with  a  will 
to  break  up  the  cluster.  But  the  danger  which  the 
eleven  sensed  upon  the  air  bound  them  tighter 
than  iron  bands.  A  few  hours  before  they  had  been 
quarrelling  with  each  other,  but  now  when  Chico  and 
I  attempted  to  stop  their  infernal  whimpering  by 
dragging  them  apart,  the  enemies  flung  their  arms 


THE  WHITE  MIAS  39 

around  each  other,  so  that  when  we  tried  to  lift 
one  to  his  feet,  we  were  handicapped  by  the  weight 
of  the  other  ten  trying  to  keep  him  upon  his  knees. 
It  made  Chico  as  vicious  as  a  bobtailed  viper. 

"Get  up!"  he  yelled.  "You  infernal  idiots! 
No  Mias!  No!  It's  a  fool  yarn!" 

"Mias,  tuanl"  they  groaned.     "Devil  Miasl" 

Chico  got  Gung  by  the  shoulders,  and  by  sheer 
brute  strength  lifted  him  to  his  feet.  "Tell  them 
that  yarn  is  a  lie!"  he  roared.  "Tell  them,  you 
old  fakir!  Quick!" 

"It's  true,  sahib!"  gasped  the  choking  Hindu. 
"It's  all  true!" 

Morgan  shook  him  till  his  teeth  rattled,  but 
Gung  wouldn't  contradict  the  yarn  that  he  had 
circulated,  and  when  Chico  dropped  him  to  the 
ground  he  crawled  to  the  ten  Dyaks  and  snuggled 
in  among  their  half-naked  bodies  in  a  vain  attempt 
to  ease  the  fear  which  gripped  his  heart. 

"We  had  better  leave  them  alone,"  said  Temple- 
ton.  "They  won't  get  their  wits  till  daylight. 
When  morning  comes  I'll  give  Gung  a  taste  of  a 
switch  that  will  stop  him  from  putting  over  any 
more  of  his  yellow-press  stories  while  we're  in 
this  neighbourhood." 

We  sat  down  upon  a  boulder  and  watched  the 
fear-stricken  eleven.  They  writhed  and  twisted  like 


40  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

a  bunch  of  water  snakes,  each  trying  to  get  in  the 
middle  of  the  clump,  as  if  possessed  of  the  idea 
that  the  middle  man  could  derive  a  feeling  of  security 
from  the  knowledge  that  his  companions  were 
around  him.  And  those  movements  seemed  to 
charge  the  night  with  a  sense  of  dread  in  the  same 
manner  that  an  impending  thunderstorm  affects 
the  atmosphere.  Red  Templeton  felt  uneasy,  Chico 
hugged  his  rifle  and  watched  the  surrounding  jungle, 
and  I  heaped  silent  curses  upon  the  head  of  Gung, 
who  seemed  to  be  a  breeding-ground  for  fear,  the 
germs  of  which  he  spread  broadcast  each  time  he 
opened  his  mouth.  I  have  never  heard  a  story 
teller  like  Gung.  Every  word  he  uttered  was  a 
cloak  under  which  Terror  invaded  the  mind  of 
the  listener,  and  we  had  no  blame  for  the  half 
score  of  Dyaks  that  he  had  made  crazy  with  his 
stories. 

"Gung  has  started  all  the  trouble,"  muttered 
Templeton.  "This  mob  will  be  in  a  nice  state  for 
marching  to-morrow,  eh?" 

"I  think  it  would  be  good  business  to  shift  camp 
now,"  said  Chico.  "This  patch  of  sand  has  some 
thing  about  it  that  they  don't  like,  and  if  we  could 
move  them  on  we  might  quiet  them  down." 

"That's  true,"  cried  Red.  "We'll  have  another 
try  to  get  them  on  their  feet." 


THE  WHITE  MIAS  41 

We  struggled  until  we  were  exhausted  trying  to 
bring  the  natives  to  their  senses.  Chico  Morgan 
and  Templeton  dragged  them  to  their  feet,  while 
I  tried  to  hold  them  there,  but  it  was  no  use.  Fear 
had  loosened  the  muscles  of  their  legs,  and  again 
and  again  they  slipped  through  our  hands  and  tied 
themselves  into  a  knot  of  greasy  limbs  that  defied 
all  our  efforts. 

"Give  it  up,"  ordered  Templeton.  "It's  too 
late  to  move  now.  The  moon  is  setting." 

"I  hope  this  game  doesn't  become  chronic  with 
them,"  growled  Chico,  as  we  went  to  our  seats 
on  the  big  boulder.  "I'm  as  sleepy  as  a  sloth." 

"Turn  in,"  said  Red.  "I'll  watch  this  lot  for  a 
while.  They'll  get  tired  soon  and  they'll  go  off 
to  sleep.  You  get  a  nap,  too,  Lenford.  There's 
no  need  for  the  three  of  us  to  remain  awake." 

Chico  and  I  went  back  to  our  blankets,  and  in 
spite  of  the  groaning  of  the  natives,  we  were  asleep 
in  half  a  minute.  Sleep  is  more  powerful  than  fear. 
When  a  man  has  been  climbing  over  rough  country 
for  a  day  it  requires  something  more  than  a  feeling 
of  insecurity  to  keep  him  awake.  We  had  no  knowl 
edge  of  the  White  Mias  outside  Gung's  stories, 
and  we  had  the  conceit  of  the  white  race  which 
made  us  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  anything  that  was  beyond 
our  own  experiences.  With  the  matter  of  the  Chalice 


42  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

of  Everlasting  Flame  and  the  Great  Parong  it  was 
different.  We  knew  of  that  cup.  Every  breeze 
that  blew  from  nipa-palm  kampongs  and  lonely 
jungle  huts  carried  some  legend  of  the  wonderful 
Chalice  and  Sword,  but  Gung  was  the  first  to  tell 
of  the  White  M ias. 

It  was  the  sound  of  Templeton' s  revolver  that 
brought  Chico  and  me  to  our  feet.  It  seemed 
as  if  we  had  been  asleep  only  five  minutes,  yet  the 
moon  had  disappeared  when  we  looked  around,  and 
the  sandy  stretch  that  was  named  the  Place  of 
Evil  Winds  was  as  dark  as  the  Caves  of  Beli.  We 
couldn't  see  Templeton  or  the  Dyaks,  but  the  yell 
ing  of  the  natives  made  it  easy  to  locate  them. 

"Where  are  you,  Templeton?"  cried  Chico. 

"Here,"  answered  Red. 

"What's  wrong?" 

"Nothing  much.  Something  moved  here  to  the 
right,  and  I  took  a  shot  at  it." 

"Do  you  see  anything?"  asked  Morgan. 

"No,  but  I  hit  it.  If  you Look  out!  Mor 
gan!  Lookout!" 

I've  tried  to  develop  the  mental  film  which  re 
corded  the  happenings  of  the  two  minutes  that 
passed  after  Red  Templeton  gave  his  shout  of 
warning.  I  am  afraid  to  put  my  blurred  impressions 
upon  paper,  but  I  must.  If  the  moon  had  been 


THE  WHITE  MIAS  43 

above  the  horizon  we  could  have  seen,  but  as  there 
was  no  light  we  could  only  feel  with  our  skins  and 
sniff  with  our  nostrils. 

All  I  know  is  that  something  came  from  the 
jungle  in  our  rear,  something  that  swept  over  us 
like  a  wave  of  hairy  bodies.  Great  God!  what  a 
sensation  of  horror  that  charge  produced!  Our 
souls  seemed  to  shrink  in  terror  from  contact  with 
the  clawing,  screaming  mass  that  surged  over  us, 
and  each  time  a  body  touched  us  it  produced  a  phys 
ical  revulsion  that  we  had  never  experienced 
before.  That  in  itself  was  extraordinary.  The 
touch  of  an  orang-utan  in  the  darkness  might  well 
occasion  fear,  but  the  touch  of  that  mass  created 
a  sick  feeling  that  seemed  to  be  a  terror  of  the  soul 
more  than  a  terror  of  the  body.  Perhaps  the 
atmosphere  created  by  the  moaning  of  Gung  and 
the  ten  Dyaks  might  have  had  something  to  do 
with  this,  but  I  know  that  Templeton,  Morgan, 
and  myself  experienced  sensations  that  were  hard 
to  analyze  as  we  were  buffeted  by  flying  bodies  and 
clawed  at  by  invisible  paws. 

Red  Templeton  fired  twice,  Chico  three  times, 
while  I  took  a  shot  at  the  rear  of  the  wave  after  I 
had  been  knocked  backward  by  a  collision  with  a 
flying  body. 

It  was  when  I  fired  that  I  saw  the  streak  of  white. 


44  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

It  passed  before  me  and  the  flash  of  Morgan's 
rifle  revealed  it  to  me.  And  that  flash  of  white 
that  brought  Gung's  story  to  my  mind  was  the 
tail  end  of  the  procession.  Stunned  and  stupe 
fied,  we  stood  and  listened  to  the  thumping  of 
heavy  bodies  on  the  sand,  the  crashing  of  boughs 
as  the  wave  hit  the  fringe  of  the  jungle,  and  then, 
as  if  the  noise  of  the  animals  had  prevented  us 
from  hearing  other  noises,  we  woke  up  to  the 
fact  that  the  screams  of  the  Dyaks  came  from 
a  great  distance,  and  were  gradually  growing 
fainter. 

"Where  are  you,  Morgan?"  roared  Templeton. 
"Quick,  man!  the  brutes  have  stampeded  the 
Dyaks!" 

"They've  taken  the  back  trail!"  cried  Chico. 
"Come  on!  We  might  catch  up  with  them!" 

Chico  started  running  in  the  direction  we  had 
come  from  on  the  previous  afternoon,  and  Red 
Templeton  and  I  ran  behind  him  at  full  speed. 
The  Dyaks  had  stampeded.  They  had  held  their 
ground  during  the  early  evening  because  they 
were  in  doubt  as  to  which  way  to  go  in  order 
to  dodge  the  thing  they  dreaded,  but  the  moment 
the  wave  of  hairy  bodies  had  struck  us,  they  had 
fled. 

We  ran  for  hours.     Now  and  then  we  thought  we 


THE  WHITE  Mi  AS  45 

heard  a  yell  from  the  natives  somewhere  far  in 
advance  of  us,  but  when  we  stopped  to  listen,  we 
could  hear  nothing  but  the  sighing  of  the  wind 
in  the  jungle.  Gung  and  his  half  score  were  on 
their  way  back  to  the  headwaters  of  the  Barito, 
and  they  were  making  good  speed. 

"It's  no  use!"  cried  Red.     "We've  lost  them." 

He  flung  himself  on  the  ground,  and  Chico  and 
I  stretched  ourselves  beside  him.  We  were  ex 
hausted  after  that  run. 

"It  will  be  dawn  in  a  few  hours,"  said  Templeton. 
"Let  us  have  a  sleep  and  then  get  back  to  the  camp 
in  the  daylight." 

"Right,"  muttered  Chico,  and  without  a  thought 
of  the  dangers  that  lay  in  front  of  us  or  the  arduous 
work  which  we  would  be  compelled  to  perform  now 
that  the  carriers  had  deserted,  we  fell  asleep.  The 
sight  of  the  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire  and  the 
stories  of  the  Great  Sword  had  created  a  fever  within 
our  brains  that  made  us  oblivious  to  dangers  that 
would  have  disheartened  us  if  we  had  not  seen 
the  cup  or  listened  to  the  stories  of  the  Great 
Parong.  We  could  not  turn  back.  An  indescrib 
able  feeling  urged  us  forward,  a  feeling  that  mere 
treasure  was  incapable  of  bringing  to  our  minds. 
Across  the  China  Sea  were  millions  of  people  waiting 
for  the  great  blade  that  had  been  carried  into  the 


46  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

hills  when  the  Orang  Bukkit  tribes  had  captured 
the  mutineers  of  Enrique  de  Gama,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  their  longings  to  see  the  sword  were  pushing 
us  into  the  untravelled  and  mysterious  land  that 
stretched  before  us. 


CHAPTER  IV 

V 

A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE 

THE  most  wonderful  dawn  that  ever  stained 
the  heavens  greeted  us  the  morning  after 
the  stampede.     Heavenly  geysers  flooded 
the  pearl-gray  bowl  above  our  heads  with  rivers 
of   orange    and    chrome,    baby-pink    and    carmine, 
and  we  sat  and  watched  the  sight.     The  mountains 
of  Tawah  looked  like  a  fringe  of  blue  chiffon  tacked 
upon  the  cloth  of  gold  and  orange  which  was  flung 
across  the  eastern  sky. 

"Come  on,"  said  Templeton,  after  we  had  sat 
for  some  twenty  minutes  gazing  at  the  sight. 
"That  sky  is  mighty  beautiful,  but  we're  close  to 
something  that  is  so  wonderful  that  three  hundred 
million  people  will  go  insane  when  they  hear  that 
it  is  in  our  possession." 

We  didn't  need  any  further  prompting.  Dawn 
or  Dyaks  or  anything  else  could  not  pull  us|  from 
the  purpose  of  the  trip,  and  without  a  word  we 
started  back  over "  the  ground  we  had  covered 
when  pursuing  Gung  and  the  startled  carriers. 

47 


48  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

We  struck  the  camp  about  nine  o'clock  and  as  we 
walked  across  the  gray  sand  stretch,  Chico  pointed 
ahead  to  an  object  that  lay  between  the  camp  and 
the  jungle. 

"We've  got  one  trophy,"  he  said.     "Look!" 

We  hurried  across  to  the  thing  that  lay  upon  the 
sand,  and  we  walked  around  it  in  silence.  It  was 
an  enormous  orang-utan,  larger  than  any  we  had 
ever  seen  or  read  of.  The  rifle  bullet  that  had 
ended  his  mad  charge  had  struck  him  between  the 
small  eyes,  and  he  had  fallen  backward,  the  tre 
mendous  arms  clutching  at  the  sand  in  his  death 
agony.  The  big  chest  of  the  brute  was  covered 
with  coarse  red  hair  that  was  fully  eighteen  inches 
in  length,  while  the  teeth,  stained  black  with  the 
juices  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  were  showing  under 
the  thick  lips. 

"A  nice  visitor  to  come  hopping  over  one's  camp 
in  the  dark,"  said  Morgan,  kicking  the  big  carcass. 
"If  you  had  turned  up  in  daylight,  you  brute,  we 
might  have  kept  our  niggers  with  us.  Now  we'll 
have  to  pack  our  own  provisions  because  you  had 
no  idea  of  social  etiquette." 

We  cooked  and  ate  our  breakfast,  then  sorted  out 
our  baggage,  left  what  we  could  not  carry,  and 
turned  our  faces  to  the  jungle.  It  was  useless 
attempting  to  cache  what  we  could  not  take  with  us 


A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE  49 

as  it  was  impossible  for  us  to  say  by  what  route  we 
would  return  to  the  Barito  River,  and  we  guessed 
that  the  orang-utans  would  make  short  work  of  a 
cache  if  we  took  the  trouble  to  construct  one. 
Besides,  we  had  a  firm  conviction  that  we  would  not 
starve  while  we  had  ammunition,  so  we  shouldered 
our  packs  cheerfully  and  walked  forward.  Like 
Jason,  of  old,  we  thought  only  of  the  thing  we  had 
set  out  to  seek,  and  the  pictures  of  the  Great  Parong 
that  were  in  our  minds  blotted  out  the  dangers 
which  lay  in  our  path.  Now  and  then  I  shud 
dered  as  I  looked  around  at  the  encompassing 
jungle  and  thought  over  Gung's  stories,  but  I  am 
absolutely  certain  that  Chico  Morgan  and  Red 
Templeton  had  no  fear.  No  bigger  men  ever 
invaded  unknown  country  than  those  two,  and  I 
am  sure  that  they  had  forgotten  the  orang-utan 
incident  long  before  noon  on  the  day  following. 

It  was  a  little  after  noon  when  we  made  a  dis 
covery.  Red  Templeton,  in  endeavouring  to  get 
a  shot  at  a  wild  pig,  dived  into  a  thick  mass  of 
sandalwood  trees,  and  it  was  his  shout  that  brought 
Chico  and  me  to  his  side.  Red  was  standing  still 
and  contemplating  a  rough  cross  of  stone  that  stood 
in  a  tiny  clearing  in  the  centre  of  the  tree  cluster! 

The  cross  was  about  four  feet  high,  built,  except 
ing  the  crosspiece,  of  small  stones  that  had  become 


50  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

moss-grown  through  the  years.  The  crosspiece 
was  a  single  slab  of  sandstone  that  had  been  roughly 
chiselled,  and  that,  too,  showed  that  many  a  year  of 
rain  and  sunshine  had  passed  over  it  since  it  had 
been  placed  in  position. 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  Chico.  "Did  any 
one Say,  we're  pretty  close!" 

He  looked  at  Templeton,  and  the  Englishman 
nodded. 

"Closer  than  we  thought." 

"Sure,"  said  Chico.  "Why,  we  might  have 
blundered  into  trouble  if  you  hadn't  noticed  this. 
Gung  must  have  made  a  mistake  about  the  dis 
tance." 

"We  might  be  miles  away  yet,"  said  the  Brit 
isher.  "Whoever  built  this  wouldn't  put  it  up 
close  to  the  kampong  of  the  Dyaks.  This  is,  or  was, 
a  little  private  chapel  as  old  as  St.  Paul's  or  older." 

It  was  peculiar  what  effect  that  emblem  of 
Christianity  had  upon  us  as  we  stood  and  stared  at 
it.  If  we  had  come  face  to  face  with  a  carven 
Buddha  or  a  rude  representation  of  a  two-headed 
wood  devil,  we  would  not  have  been  surprised, 
but  the  lonely  emblem  of  the  Crucifixion  clutched 
at  our  throats  as  we  walked  around  it.  It  seemed 
to  throw  a  peculiar  atmosphere  over  the  little 
clearing  in  the  tree  clump,  and  it  seemed  to  our 


A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE  51 

startled  eyes  that  it  held  within  its  moss-grown 
stones  the  hopes  and  fears  of  those  who  had  prayed 
before  it  in  that  place  of  silence  and  gloom.  It 
was  a  splendid  outpost  of  civilization,  and  in  the 
minutes  that  we  stood  silently  around  it,  our  thoughts 
went  flying  back  to  places  that  were  thousands  of 
miles  from  that  lonely  cross. 

Templeton  examined  the  stones  carefully  in  an 
effort  to  find  some  date  or  word  that  would  show 
whether  the  cross  had  been  erected  by  one  of  the 
mutinous  sailors  of  the  galleon  of  Enrique  de  Gama, 
or  by  one  of  their  descendants,  but  there  were  no 
marks  to  identify  the  architect.  He  had  built  it, 
prayed  before  it,  and  had  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh. 

"P'raps  the  tribe  has  shifted  miles  from  this 
point  since  this  was  erected,"  said  Chico.  "The 
hill  Dyaks  are  great  wanderers." 

"That's  a  fact,"  admitted  Templeton.  "We 
may  be  a  long  distance  from  the  goal.  It's  a 
pity  Gung  bolted  with  the  carriers." 

With  our  eyes  upon  the  cross  we  circled  it  slowly, 
viewing  it  from  all  points  and  wondering  stupidly 
concerning  the  man  or  men  who  had  erected  it. 
If  they  were  the  sailors  of  Enrique  de  Gama  who 
had  put  a  dying  message  upon  the  bottom  of  the 
Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire,  the  stone  cross  was 
proof  that  they  had  not  been  butchered  by  their 


52  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

captors.  And  if  it  had  been  erected  by  De  Gama's 
men,  it  proved  that  they  had  not  been  close  pris 
oners  of  the  tribe.  The  position  of  the  moss- 
covered  emblem  of  faith  seemed  to  suggest  a  desire 
for  privacy  on  the  part  of  the  builder,  since  the  cen 
tury  old  trees  that  surrounded  the  spot  gave  vis 
ible  proof  that  no  Dyak  village  had  occupied  the 
site  since  the  erection  of  the  cross. 

"But  it  wouldn't  have  remained  in  good  order 
all  these  years,"  said  Templeton,  pausing  to  survey 
it  closely.  "Why,  there's  not  a  loose  stone  around 
the  base.  If  it  had  been  built  by  one  of  the  Portu 
guese  sailors  it  would  have  been  laid  flat  unless  it 
had  been  cared  for.  If  there " 

Red  stopped  as  Chico  gave  a  little  cry  of  joy. 
Morgan  ~w.as  on  his  knees  examining  the  ground  at 
a  spot  about  twenty  feet  from  the  base  of  the  cross, 
and  as  we  hurried  to  his  side  we  saw  the  reason  for 
the  cry.  Templeton's  argument  was  good.  The 
cross  would  have  probably  fallen  to  pieces  through 
the  years  if  others  had  not  looked  after  it,  and 
when  we  stood  beside  Chico  Morgan  we  felt  that 
we  were  on  the  point  of  finding  out  something  about 
those  who  had  kept  the  stones  together.  Chico 
was  kneeling  beside  a  beaten  patch  of  earth  about 
two  feet  square,  and  leading  back  from  that  patch, 
stretching  away  into  the  jungle,  was  a  faint  trail! 


A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE  53 

That  little  track  was  hardly  more  distinct  than 
the  path  which  a  leopard  beats  to  his  favourite 
watering  place,  but  we  knew  that  no  animal  had 
made  it.  The  beaten  circle  at  the  end  of  the  path 
told  its  story.  The  person  or  persons  who  had 
worshipped  in  that  silent  grove  had  walked  to 
that  little  circle,  contemplated  the  cross  at  a  dis 
tance,  and  had  then  retired  along  the  trail  by 
which  they  had  come. 

"By  George!"  gasped  Templeton.  "What  do 
you  make  of  it?" 

"That  some  one  still  holds  the  cross  in  rever 
ence,"  answered  Chico.  "Either  some  of  the 
descendants  of  your  Portuguese  sailors  are  familiar 
with  its  meaning,  or  the  Dyaks,  ignorant  of  what 
it  stands  for,  have  set  it  up  as  a  fetish.  Some  one 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  coming  here,  and  that  some 
one  has  been  here  recently." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  recently?"  asked  Tem 
pleton. 

"Inside  twenty-four  hours,"  answered  Morgan. 
"The  tracks  are  fresh.  Feet  in  leather  sandals, 
and  small  feet  at  that." 

The  big  Englishman  whistled  softly  as  we  stood 
and  looked  at  each  other.  We  felt  that  we  were  on 
the  verge  of  a  tremendous  discovery,  and  we  stared 
at  the  stone  cross  as  if  we  doubted  our  eyes.  We 


54  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

could  hardly  believe  that  any  descendant  of  De 
Gama's  sailors  would  understand  the  significance 
of  the  moss-grown  emblem,  and  yet  there  was  proof 
that  some  one  had  been  in  the  habit  of  approaching 
that  little  pile  of  stones,  standing  on  the  bare,  beaten 
circle,  and  then  retreating  by  the  same  path  over 
which  he  had  approached. 

Chico  spoke  after  a  short  silence.  "Were  there 
any  women  aboard  the  Portuguese  ship?"  he  asked. 

"  Couldn't  answer  that,"  said  Templeton.  "There 
might  have  been,  but  the  betting  is  against  it. 
Enrique  was  little  short  of  a  pirate,  I  guess,  and  his 
boat  would  hardly  be  the  place  for  ladies.  In 
those  days,  a  captain  who  wandered  into  these 
seas  came  with  the  intention  of  picking  up  all  the 
loot  he  could  get  his  hands  on,  and  he  trusted  to 
Providence  and  the  fighting  strength  of  his  crew 
to  cut  his  way  back  to  the  west." 

"It's  a  puzzle,"  muttered  Chico.  "How  the 
dickens " 

A  wild  pig  broke  through  the  underbrush  close 
to  the  spot  where  the  little  path  went  burrowing 
into  the  jungle,  scampered  across  the  clearing, 
and  disappeared.  Another  followed,  and  Templeton 
sprang  behind  a  creeper  growth  that  covered  a 
stunted  mohor  tree. 

"Quick!"  he  whispered.     "Some  one  is  coming!" 


A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE  55 

We  dived  behind  the  green  screen,  and  from  tiny 
peepholes  watched  the  path.  Some  one  had  startled 
the  wild  pigs,  and  we  imagined  that  the  person 
approaching  was  the  one  whose  feet  had  beaten 
the  little  path  to  the  cross. 

With  straining  ears  we  listened  for  a  sound  while 
our  eyes  were  glued  upon  the  path.  Now  and  then 
we  heard  the  snapping  of  a  twig  or  the  rustle  of 
dead  leaves,  but  we  could  see  nothing.  If  some  one 
were  approaching  —  and  we  felt  certain  that  a  human 
being  was  near  —  the  approaching  one  was  not 
using  the  little  path.  He  was  pushing  his  way  through 
the  undergrowth,  and  he  was  using  extreme  cau 
tion  in  doing  so.  If  the  wild  pigs  had  not  alarmed 
us,  it  is  certain  that  we  should  not  have  noticed 
the  slight  noises  which  came  to  our  ears. 

The  little  noises  of  snapping  twigs  and  rustling 
leaves  ceased,  and  in  the  silence  that  followed 
Templeton  lifted  a  warning  finger  and  pointed 
through  his  spyhole  at  a  place  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  clearing.  For  a  minute  Morgan  and  I  could 
see  nothing,  then  our  eyes  pounced  upon  the  spot 
that  Templeton  had  located.  Thrust  through  the 
foliage  was  the  yellowish-brown  face  of  a  Kyan,  his 
beady,  black  eyes  searching  the  little  clearing  in 
which  stood  the  lonely  moss-covered  cross ! 

The  examination   was  thorough.     As  the  sharp 


56  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

eyes  passed  over  the  screen  of  leaves  which  concealed 
us  from  view,  we  drew  back  quickly,  wondering 
for  an  instant  if  the  instinct  of  the  savage  would 
tell  him  of  our  presence,  but  the  next  moment  we 
were  reassured.  The  native  stepped  into  the  open, 
and  we  had  a  full  view. 

He  was  a  tall,  muscular  Kyan,  wearing  a  chawat 
of  bark  cloth  around  his  loins,  half  a  dozen  fibre 
rings  around  each  ankle,  and  a  score  of  shell  brace 
lets  upon  the  right  wrist.  He  carried  a  wooden 
shield,  the  front  of  which  was  decorated  with  some 
twoscore  tufts  of  human  hair,  and  in  his  right  hand 
he  gripped  the  deadly  blowpipe.  His  thighs  were 
tattooed  with  spiral  designs  that  we  had  never 
seen  upon  any  of  the  coast  Dyaks,  and  his  body 
was  streaked  with  white  clay,  the  streaks  radiating 
from  a  charm  that  hung  upon  his  chest.  Alto 
gether  he  struck  us  as  being  a  fierce-looking  speci 
men,  and  the  bunches  of  human  hair  that  flapped 
up  and  down  upon  his  shield  did  not  impress  us  in 
his  favour  as  he  walked  forward. 

He  stopped  when  he  reached  the  bare  spot  at 
the  end  of  the  path  where  we  had  stood  a  few  mo 
ments  before,  and  he  was  on  the  point  of  stooping 
to  examine  the  ground  when  his  keen  ears  warned 
him  that  the  moment  was  not  opportune.  With 
a  single  bound  he  sprang  back  to  his  hiding-place. 


A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE  57 

and  we  turned  our  eyes  upon  the  path.  And  this 
time  we  seemed  to  know  that  the  person  who 
regularly  visited  the  cross  was  approaching  by  the 
narrow  path  through  the  jungle. 

If  I  live  through  the  next  century,  I  shall  never 
forget  that  first  view  of  Nao,  the  Golden  One. 
I  couldn't  forget  it.  She  stood  in  a  frame  of  green, 
and  for  a  moment  we  thought  that  she  was  a  wood 
nymph  belonging  to  the  dark  woods  of  tapang  and 
sandalwood.  Diana  of  old  was  never  more  radiantly 
beautiful  or  full  of  life.  As  we  stared,  forgetful  for 
the  moment  of  the  wild-looking  Kyan  who  had 
plunged  into  the  undergrowth,  we  thought  of  her 
as  the  spirit  of  the  hills,  the  living  embodiment  of 
the  good  that  was  in  that  uncharted  jungle.  She 
was  a  wonder  woman. 

Taller  than  the  ordinary  woman,  she  possessed, 
with  the  unusual  height,  all  the  grace  and  suppleness 
of  the  jungle-born.  She  wore  a  small  kabayahj 
or  jacket,  cut  low  around  the  neck  and  barely 
covering  the  breasts,  together  with  a  sarong  or 
petticoat,  that  was  wound  around  the  waist.  Be 
tween  the  kabayah  and  the  sarong  she  wore,  Dyak 
fashion,  a  dozen  girdles  of  cane  that  were  so  com 
pletely  covered  with  tiny  gold  rings  that  none  of 
the  cane  was  visible.  The  sarong  was  blue,  a 
beautiful  Venetian  blue,  and  it  was  edged  with  tiny 


58  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

pearls  and  turquoises.  Her  hair  hung  in  two 
great  plaits,  while  the  black  masses  above  her  brow 
were  held  back  by  a  silver  comb  of  native  workman 
ship,  in  which  a  ruby  glowed  like  the  eye  of  an 
aintu,  or  hill  spirit. 

The  face  of  the  girl  was  more  beautiful  than  any 
face  we  had  ever  seen.  She  was  beauty  itself. 
All  the  witchery  and  dreaminess  of  the  Orient 
were  in  the  big  dark  eyes  that  were  deeper  than  the 
whirlpool  of  San  Larn.  The  nose  was  exquisitely 
modelled,  the  lips  redder  than  the  blush  upon  Mount 
Pemabo  when  the  sun  kisses  it  as  he  comes  up  out  of 
the  Celebes  Sea.  By  the  glory  of  Solomon!  she 
was  a  magnificent  woman.  The  sight  of  her  gripped 
us  like  the  clutch  of  death  itself,  and  we  looked  upon 
her  beauty  with  eyes  that  made  the  brain  forget 
everything  else. 

Her  two  slim  hands  held  back  the  green  branches 
while  her  eyes  looked  at  the  cross.  Her  nostrils 
seemed  to  be  sniffing  the  air  like  a  mountain  deer 
that  suspects  danger,  and  I  know  that  in  the  mo 
ment  she  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  like  a 
perfect  statue,  a  horror  lest  she  should  turn  and 
flee  came  upon  us. 

Chico  Morgan  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief  as  one 
of  the  small  feet  in  its  curious  sandal  of  pigskin 
was  put  forward  haltingly.  It  seemed  as  if  the 


A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE  59 

girl  sensed  danger,  but  that  she  was  attempting 
to  throw  off  the  dread  brought  to  her  by  her  skin. 
Slowly,  very  slowly,  she  advanced  toward  the  cross, 
and  if  we  doubted  whether  the  person  who  made  that 
path  understood  the  significance  of  the  little  pile  of 
stones,  the  doubt  fled  from  our  minds  as  we 
watched  her  face. 

The  heathen  approaches  his  fetish  with  a  look 
of  fear  upon  his  face,  but  there  was  no  fear  upon  the 
face  of  the  Golden  One.  Her  eyes  were  the  eyes  of 
a  trusting  worshipper,  and  as  we  looked  at  those 
eyes  we  seemed  to  see  the  girl's  naked  soul.  I 
think  we  witnessed  a  miracle  just  then.  Up  in 
that  jungle  that  was  more  inaccessible  than  the  Gidi 
Desert  or  the  slopes  of  the  Nan  Shan  Mountains, 
a  woman  was  clinging  to  a  belief  that  refused  to  die. 
As  we  looked  at  her  we  thought  of  the  three  hundred 
years  that  had  elapsed  since  the  Portuguese  sailors 
of  Enrique  de  Gama  had  been  taken  into  the  hills 
as  the  prisoners  of  the  Orang  Bukkit,  and  we  seemed 
to  read  the  past  in  the  big  eyes  that  were  soft  and 
limpid  as  they  looked  upon  the  cross.  We  saw  it 
all.  Through  the  centuries  a  belief  had  lived, 
and  we  thrilled  as  we  peered  at  her  from  our  leafy 
shelter.  One  of  De  Gama's  sailors  or  officers  had 
erected  that  cross  in  the  jungle,  and  generation  after 
generation  had  come  to  pray  before  it.  The  knowl- 


60  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

edge  choked  us.  We  pictured  those  descendants 
coming  to  that  spot,  drawn  there  by  the  germ  of 
belief  planted  in  the  subconscious  brain,  their 
knowledge  of  the  faith  growing  less  with  each  suc 
ceeding  generation.  It  was  an  extraordinary  hap 
pening.  We  stared  at  the  girl  in  the  clearing 
and  wondered  as  to  her  knowledge  of  the  symbol  that 
had  been  set  up  in  that  lonely  spot  in  the  jungle. 

The  red  lips  moved,  and  a  prayer  as  soft  as  the 
flutter  of  an  angel's  wing  went  out  into  the  stillness. 
Red  Templeton's  head  was  thrust  forward  to  catch 
the  whispered  words,  and  the  look  of  amazement 
upon  his  sun-tanned  face  deepened  as  he  caught  the 
whisper.  Chico  and  I  glanced  at  Red,  and  we 
knew  well  that  he  understood  the  language  in  which 
the  invocation  was  couched. 

Softly,  ever  so  softly,  the  woman  sent  her  little 
supplication  into  the  silence,  and  a  feeling  of  shame 
gripped  us  as  we  listened.  The  place  was  as  holy 
as  a  church,  and  we  were  listening  to  the  prayer  of 
a  girl  whose  kabayah  heaved  and  fell  under  the 
stress  of  her  emotions. 

Suddenly  Chico  Morgan  shifted  his  position. 
His  right  hand  was  thrust  through  the  curtain  of 
green,  his  Colt  shattered  the  stillness  of  the  place, 
and  before  Templeton  or  I  could  bring  our  thoughts 
back  to  the  incident  that  had  preceeded  the  arrival 


A  CROSS  IN  THE  JUNGLE  61 

of  the  girl,  the  Kyan  warrior  stumbled  out  of  the 
bushes  and  fell  full  length  upon  the  grass.  We 
understood  then  why  Chico  had  fired.  Although 
mortally  wounded,  the  native  made  an  attempt  to 
turn  the  deadly  blowpipe  upon  the  girl  as  he  threshed 
around  in  his  death  agony. 


CHAPTER  V 

WE   TAKE   ANOTHER    PARTNER 

IT  WAS  strange  how  the  intuition  of  the  girl 
enabled  her  to  take  in  the  situation  the  moment 
Chico  fired  the  shot.  Probably  she  had  never 
heard  the  report  of  a  gun  in  her  life,  yet  when  she 
glanced  at  the  Kyan  clutching  the  grass  in  his  death 
struggles,  and  then  at  Templeton,  Chico,  and  myself, 
she  understood  immediately.  And  she  understood 
more.  Without  one  of  us  making  a  move  to  en 
lighten  her,  she  knew  that  it  was  Morgan  who  had 
killed  the  would-be  assassin,  and  with  a  little  cry  of 
thankfulness  she  fell  upon  her  knees  and  kissed  the 
hand  that  held  the  revolver. 

Chico  blushed  like  a  schoolgirl  as  he  listened  to 
the  torrent  of  words  that  fell  from  the  red  lips,  and 
he  turned  helplessly  to  Templeton  as  he  lifted  the 
girl  to  her  feet. 

"What  does  she  speak?"  he  cried.  "Portuguese, 
isn't  it?  Tell  her  it  was  nothing!  Don't  stand  and 
stare  at  her,  man!" 

Red  Templeton  jerked  himself  out  of  the  trance 

62 


WE  TAKE  ANOTHER  PARTNER  63 

into  which  he  seemed  to  slip  when  he  heard  the  girl 
whisper  her  prayer  to  the  cross.  He  fired  a  question 
at  her  in  Portuguese,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation 
she  answered  it.  Chico  and  I  stood  and  stared  at 
that  vision  with  open  mouths  as  she  spoke  rapidly. 
That  happening  was  something  that  would  amaze 
the  greatest  stoic  that  ever  lived.  We  had  struck  a 
link  with  the  past,  and  as  we  looked  at  Templeton, 
we  saw  that  her  words  stirred  him  in  a  way  that  made 
us  madly  excited  to  hear  them  translated. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Morgan.  "Don't  keep  us 
waiting!  Tell  us!" 

The  girl  was  still  clinging  to  Chico' s  hand,  and  she 
seemed  to  cling  tighter  as  Red  swung  round  upon 
us. 

"By  all  that  is  wonderful!  we've  struck  it!"  he 
cried.  "It's  amazing!  She  speaks  a  mixture  of 
Portuguese  and  Malay,  and  I'll  swear  to  heaven  she's 
a  descendant  of  Enrique  de  Gama's  sailors!" 

"But  what  does  she  say?"  asked  Chico.  "Why 
does  she  point  to  the  back  trail?" 

"She  wants  us  to  clear  out  at  once,"  answered 
Templeton. 

"Why?" 

Red  took  a  glance  around,  then  at  the  Kyan  upon, 
the  ground.  "We're  close  to  the  kampong  of  the 
Spotted  Panther,"  he  said.  "Do  you  hear  me? 


64  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

She  says  it's  close,  and  she  wants  us  to  clear  out 
before  he  gets  his  eyes  upon  us." 

"Does  she  stay  there?"  questioned  Chico. 

"Yes.  Wait  a  moment  and  I'll  ask  her  about  the 
treasure." 

Templeton  opened  his  mouth  to  put  a  question 
concerning  the  Sword  of  Buddha,  but  Chico  clutched 
his  arm.  "Don't  ask  her  any  questions  about  that ! " 
he  cried.  "That  wouldn't  be  fair  play!" 

"Why?"  asked  Red. 

"She  is  with  them,"  snapped  Morgan.  "And  we 
don't  want  to  burrow  secrets  out  of  her  because  we 
stopped  the  Kyan  with  the  blowpipe." 

Templeton  and  Chico  looked  at  each  other,  and 
the  girl  watched  them  with  her  big  eyes.  And  she 
seemed  to  divine  the  cause  of  their  little  disagreement 
at  that  moment.  It  was  wonderful.  With  a  sudden 
twist  of  her  arm  she  tore  the  big  ruby  comb  from  the 
hair  that  was  blacker  than  the  Jade  Goddess  of 
Sarm,  and  she  thrust  the  thing  into  Morgan's  hand  as 
she  talked  rapidly. 

"Now  she's  talking  treasure,"  said  Red.  "She 
senses  the  reason  that  brought  us  up  here,  and  she 
wants  you  to  take  the  big  ruby  and  go  back." 

Chico  smiled  gently  as  he  put  the  comb  back  into 
the  girl's  hand.  "Tell  her  we  are  not  going  back," 
he  said.  "We  are  going  straight  ahead  if  there  are  a 


WE  TAKE  ANOTHER  PARTNER  65 

dozen  Spotted  Panthers  in  the  way.  And  tell  her 
it  will  be  better  for  her  to  break  connections  with  us 
right  now." 

"What's  the  hurry?"  asked  Templeton. 

"  What's  the  hurry  ? "  repeated  Chico.  "  We  don't 
want  to  make  her  a  traitor,  do  we?  Let  her  go  her 
own  way  and  we'll  go  ours." 

Red  smiled  as  he  turned  to  the  girl  with  the  mes 
sage.  Morgan  was  sensitive  about  receiving  any 
information  from  the  beautiful  stranger,  but  the 
Britisher  couldn't  see  matters  in  the  same  light.  We 
had  come  up  to  that  place  with  the  intention  of  loot 
ing  what  the  Orang  Bukkit  tribe  had  looted  from 
the  Portuguese  ship  three  hundred  years  before,  and 
Templeton  didn't  care  how  we  got  the  information 
as  long  as  we  got  it. 

But  he  translated  Chico's  message  to  the 
girl.  We  knew  that  by  the  manner  in  which 
she  acted  after  the  Englishman  spoke.  Morgan's 
hand  was  taken  in  a  tight  grip  between  her  two 
small  ones,  and  she  hurled  a  torrent  of  words  at 
Templeton. 

"She  won't  leave  us,"  said  Red,  translating 
rapidly.  "You  won  her  over  by  putting  a  bullet  in 
the  head  of  the  gentleman  who  tried  to  assassinate 
her.  He's  a  Tring,  and  they're  at  war  with  the  tribe 
bossed  by  the  Spotted  Panther.  This  girl's  name  is 


66  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Nao,  or  the  Golden  One,  and  there  are  three  others 
in  the  kampong  that  speak  Portuguese." 

Chico  tried  to  disengage  his  hand,  but  the  Golden 
One  would  not  be  shaken  off,  and  Chico's  tanned  face 
reddened.  I  think  the  big  American  would  have 
turned  and  run  away  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that 
the  stone  cross  in  the  grove  of  sandalwood  trees, 
together  with  the  appearance  of  the  girl,  convinced 
us  that  we  were  close  to  the  Great  Parong  of  Buddha, 
and  the  feeling  stirred  a  madness  in  us  that  made  it 
impossible  for  us  to  retreat.  The  fever  caused  by  the 
discovery  of  the  cross  made  us  forget  the  affair  of  the 
previous  night,  and  it  worked  us  up  to  such  a  pitch  of 
excitement  that  we  were  incapable  of  forming  any 
idea  of  the  dangers  that  lay  in  front  of  us. 

"If  we  are  going  forward  she  intends  to  stick  to  us 
and  help  us  all  she  can,"  said  Templeton.  "That 
is  what  she  says.  What's  the  use  of  your  kicking 
against  fate?  I've  told  her  what  we're  after  and  it 
doesn't  surprise  her.  Why,  man,  she  must  be  the 
descendant  of  an  officer  of  De  Gama's.  An  officer, 
not  a  common  sailor!  I'll  swear  she  is!  And  if  the 
truth  were  known,  the  best  part  of  the  treasure 
that  is  supposed  to  be  in  these  hills  should  belong  to 
her!" 

"There's  a  lot  of  sense  in  that  argument,"  said 
Chico.  "I  guess  she's  the  rightful  claimant  to  the 


WE  TAKE  ANOTHER  PARTNER  67 

most  of  it.  That  is,  if  we  acknowledge  the  right  of 
Enrique  de  Gama  to  it  in  the  first  instance." 

We  stood  and  looked  at  each  other  and  the  girl. 
Whoever  named  her  the  Golden  One  named  her 
well.  There  were  depths  in  her  eyes  that  held  all  the 
glamour  and  wonder  of  the  world.  Saints  be  praised ! 
wasn't  she  beautiful!  She  seemed  to  be  as  old  as  the 
hills  and  yet  as  young  as  the  dawn.  And  she  had 
the  mystery  of  all  women.  One  would  think  that 
her  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  Helen,  yet  her  face  had  the 
purity  of  St.  Monica's. 

And  she  seemed  to  understand  the  matter  that 
was  in  dispute  at  that  moment.  I  don't  know  how 
she  gripped  it,  but  I  know  that  she  did.  We  have 
little  knowledge  of  the  inherited  impressions  that 
are  stored  in  the  cells  of  the  brain  and  we  were 
ignorant  of  the  thoughts  that  welled  up  in  the  mind 
of  that  girl  when  she  got  the  first  glimpse  of  us.  She 
was  looking  backward,  straining  after  words  that 
had  escaped  her,  searching  for  memories  that  had 
been  lost  through  the  years.  God  alone  knows  how 
she  struggled  to  make  the  hazy  dreams  seem  real;  to 
build  up  the  bridges  that  made  connections  with  a 
past  that  she  had  been  robbed  of  by  fate. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  erect,  made  a  rush  toward  the 
moss-grown  cross,  touched  it  daintily  with  her 
fingers,  then  slipping  back  to  the  spot  where  we  stood 


68  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

she  touched  our  hands  in  turn,  as  she  made  verbal 
explanation  to  Templeton  and  signalled  that  he 
translate  for  Chico  and  me. 

"She  says  that  the  cross  binds  the  four  of  us 
together,"  said  Red,  half  choking  with  emotion  as  he 
spoke.  "Saints  be  praised!  what  has  this  girl 
dreamed  of  in  this  infernal  place?" 

The  eyes  of  Nao  flashed  as  a  phrase  seemed  to 
spring  out  of  the  mental  reticule  into  which  words 
had  fallen  through  disuse.  She  opened  her  mouth 
to  speak,  lost  the  phrase,  waited  an  instant,  then  in 
exultation  she  seized  Templeton  by  the  sleeve  as 
the  forgotten  words  were  recalled. 

"A  cruz  de  Deus  traz-nos  todos  unidos!"  cried  Nao, 
repeating  again  and  again  the  words  which  Temple- 
ton  had  translated,  and  pointing  as  she  spoke  toward 
the  cross.  And  her  voice  thrilled  us. 

The  Golden  One  put  out  a  little  hand  to  Chico,  and 
Morgan  took  the  small  fingers,  lifted  them  to  his  lips 
and  kissed  them.  And  she  stood  like  a  princess  while 
he  tendered  the  salute.  Breeding?  Of  course  there 
was  breeding!  I'll  wager  that  some  of  the  bluest 
blood  in  old  Portugal  was  with  Enrique  de  Gama,  and 
that  blood  showed  in  the  actions  of  the  girl,  who  was 
fairer  than  the  houris  who  wait  to  open  the  door  of 
the  Mahommedan  paradise.  She  swept  us  off  our 
feet  at  that  moment.  She  was  our  kin,  and  by  the 


WE  TAKE  ANOTHER  PARTNER  69 

bones  of  Tamerlane  she  seemed  to  become  regal  when 
she  spoke  to  us.  If  we  had  met  her  on  the  Praco  do 
Rocio  at  Lisbon  in  conventional  dress  we  should 
have  thought  her  some  blue-blooded  beauty  from  the 
big  houses  on  the  Avenida  da  Liberdade.  If  En 
rique  de  Gama  hadn't  any  aristocratic  names  on  his 
register,  we  guessed  that  the  long-dead  Portuguese, 
from  whom  Nao  was  descended,  must  have  shipped 
under  an  alias. 

"Nos  somos  amigos"  she  murmured. 

"She  is  asking  if  we  will  be  friends,"  said  Temple- 
ton. 

"Friends?"  repeated  Chico.  ""Ay!  till  we  die! 
And  we'll  get  the  Parong  of  Buddha  and  all  the  other 
loot,  and  you'll  share  in  it.  And  we'll  take  you  back 
to  where  you  belong.  We  will !  Back  to  the  lemon 
and  the  orange  groves  of  Lisbon  and  the  moonlit 
nights  and  the  tinkling  guitars.  By  the  powers 
above  we  will ! " 

That  girl  seemed  to  know  what  he  said  before 
Templeton  explained  a  word  of  it.  I  guess  she  read 
it  in  Chico's  eyes,  that  were  mighty  moist  at  that 
moment.  Her  kabayah  heaved  as  if  the  longings  of 
years  would  burst  her  little  heart,  and  her  smile  was 
something  that  no  artist  in  the  world  could  put  on 
canvas. 

That  seemed  a  rather  big  boast  of  Chico  Morgan's 


7<3  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

when  one  considered  the  magnitude  of  the  job  that 
lay  in  front  of  us,  but  Chico  never  looked  at  the 
size  of  a  proposition  he  attempted  to  handle.  He 
looked  instead  into  'his  own  breast  to  see  if  he  had  a 
conviction  that  he  was  going  to  win,  and  if  he  had 
that  feeling,  the  size  of  the  job  didn't  matter.  And 
he  had  a  firm  belief  that  we  were  going  to  recover 
some  of  the  wonderful  loot  of  which  Gung  had 
spoken  as  we  sat  and  stared  at  the  Chalice  of  Ever 
lasting  Fire.  Chico  had  faced  death  a  thousand 
times,  and  the  stories  that  he  had  heard  concerning 
the  might  of  the  Spotted  Panther  had  no  terrors  for 
him.  Nor  had  Red  Templeton  any  fear.  It  is  the 
big  shoulders  that  are  picked  to  carry  the  big  bur 
dens,  and  the  girl  seemed  to  feel  the  confidence  pos 
sessed  by  Templeton  and  Morgan  as  she  stood  and 
looked  at  them. 

"Leesbon!"  whispered  the  Golden  One.  "Lees- 
bon!" 

"Ay!  Lisbon!"  cried  Chico.  "Does  it  sound 
familiar?  Why  the  name  has  stuck  in  her  mind  like 
a  date  seed  in  a  pudding.  Ask  her,  Templeton,  if  she 
remembers  anything  that  her  people  told  her." 

Red  put  the  question,  and  the  Golden  One  stood 
for  a  moment  thinking.  Then  she  burst  forth  in  the 
sweetest  little  melody  that  we  had  ever  listened  to. 
It  was  a  Portuguese  love  song,  and  as  she  warbled  it 


WE  TAKE  ANOTHER  PARTNER  71 

we  seemed  to  sniff  the  fragrance  of  the  fruit  groves 
along  the  Tagus,  and  hear  the  tinkling  of  the  man 
dolins  and  the  swish  of  the  dancing  girls.  That  song 
had  been  improved  during  the  three  hundred  years 
it  had  been  sung  up  in  those  fastnesses.  All  the 
longing  brought  by  years  of  exile  had  been  plaited 
into  it,  and  it  tugged  at  the  heart  with  chains  of 
steel.  And  the  desire  for  the  home  that  she  was 
ignorant  of  was  in  the  blood  of  the  singer,  who  had 
the  eyes  of  wonder  and  the  face  of  the  dawn. 

For  a  few  moments  after  she  had  finished  singing 
we  did  not  speak,  then  the  girl  led  each  of  us  to  the 
moss-grown  cross  and  made  us  touch  it  with  our  right 
hands.  Thus  was  our  partnership  sealed  and  signed. 

"Now,"  said  Templeton,  "we'll  be  moving  on. 
The  afternoon  is  closing  in." 

Nao  smiled  at  Chico,  stepped  forward  along  the 
path  by  which  she  had  come,  and  we  followed  with 
out  a  moment's  hesitation.  We  had  implicit  faith  in 
her  from  the  moment  we  first  saw  her.  Treachery 
had  no  place  in  her  make-up,  and  our  brains  rioted 
with  thoughts  of  the  Parong  of  Buddha  as  we  fol 
lowed  her  through  the  jungle.  We  were  close  to  it, 
and  the  knowledge  had  an  effect  upon  us  that 
would  be  impossible  for  us  to  explain.  No  amount 
of  ordinary  treasure  trove  could  produce  the  thrills 
we  experienced.  As  we  followed  her  silently  we 


72  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

pictured  the  three  hundred  millions  of  India,  and  the 
other  millions  scattered  through  Tibet,  China,  and 
Japan,  rising  up  to  greet  the  marvellous  sword  that 
we  would  carry  again  into  the  light. 

We  had  gorgeous  dreams  as  we  tramped  along 
behind  the  girl.  She  was  a  dream  herself.  As  we 
looked  at  the  masses  of  black  hair,  and  the  kabayah 
and  the  blue  sarong  with  its  trimming  of  seed  pearls 
and  turquoises,  we  built  up  dreams  of  golden  mist 
that  reached  to  the  stars.  We  stood  upon  the  stilts 
of  our  imagination  and  spun  visions  with  our  heads 
in  the  spindrift  of  the  whirling  planets.  We  could 
laugh  at  Jason,  Marco  Polo,  Pizarro,  and  every 
other  treasure  hunter  that  ever  went  into  the 
unknown.  We  were  close  to  the  biggest  treasure 
that  the  world  had  ever  heard  of,  a  treasure  that  was 
above  values,  because  all  the  money  in  the  world 
could  not  produce  a  thousandth  part  of  the  thrills 
which  its  discovery  would  bring  to  the  waiting 
Orient.  We  walked  on  air.  We  forgot  everything 
but  the  words  of  the  Hindu  in  which  he  had  de 
scribed  what  he  had  seen  through  the  cleft  in  the 
rock  on  the  night  when  he  had  appropriated  the 
Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire. 

Once  when  I  had  made  a  whispered  remark  to 
Chico  concerning  the  stampede  of  the  previous  even 
ing,  Morgan  looked  at  me  in  the  manner  of  a  man 


WE  TAKE  ANOTHER  PARTNER  73 

who  is  trying  to  recall  something  that  has  been 
blotted  out  by  more  recent  happenings.  And  there 
was  enough  in  the  happenings  of  the  morning  to  blot 
out  the  incident  of  the  night  previous  when  the 
orang-utan  legion  had  terrorized  the  Dyak  carriers. 
That  lone  cross  in  the  jungle  came  up  before  our 
minds  a  thousand  times,  and  our  thoughts  went  back 
to  it  as  if  we  considered  it  a  friend  in  that  wilderness. 

It  was  near  sunset  when  the  Golden  One  called  a 
halt.  Very  cautiously  she  drew  aside  the  green 
screen  of  vines  immediately  in  front  of  the  spot 
where  she  was  standing,  and  then,  one  by  one,  she 
invited  us  to  look.  And  we  looked  through  that 
spyhole  with  feelings  of  wild  amazement.  Stretch 
ing  out  before  us  was  the  most  ungodly  quaking 
morass  that  we  had  ever  seen.  It  was  a  terrible 
place.  The  great,  slimy  stretch  was  studded  with 
patches  of  green  that  shivered  like  half-frozen 
jellies,  and  as  we  watched  those  shivering  mouths 
we  could  hear  the  morass  gurgling  softly  as  if  asking 
for  something  for  its  quaking  stomach.  It  was  a 
horrible,  fear-inspiring  place,  and  it  brought  upon 
me  a  feeling  of  nausea  as  I  stared  at  it. 

The  girl  spoke  to  Templeton  and  Red  translated. 

"She  says  it  is  the  Million  Mouths  of  Boorsh,"  he 
said.  "In  those  copper-coloured  slopes  on  the 
other  side  is  the  kampong  of  the  Spotted  Panther." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   MOUTHS    OF    BOORSH 

IT  IS  the  immobility  of  a  morass  that  terrorizes 
the  onlooker.  Man  has  never  feared  anything 
that  is  full  of  life.  He  loves  the  sea,  and  if  we  can 
judge  by  sailors'  chanteys,  the  love  grows  greater  the 
more  old  Neptune  disturbs  his  domain.  But  a  slimy 
morass  conjures  up  visions  of  the  crocodile  wait 
ing  motionless  for  its  prey,  of  the  horned  viper  of 
the  Sahara  that  buries  itself  in  the  sand  with  only 
the  head  visible  to  the  traveller.  I  know  that  we 
had  unpleasant  thoughts  as  we  looked  at  the  stretch 
of  slime  with  the  strange  green  mouths  that  were 
scarce  a  yard  from  each  other.  A  million  mouths! 
Why  the  place  had  a  trillion,  and  as  we  stared  at 
them  they  seemed  to  shake  gently  as  if  a  devil  within 
the  mass  of  jelly  was  laughing  at  our  discomfiture  at 
finding  such  an  obstruction  in  our  path. 

"Great  Scott!"  muttered  Morgan.  "That  looks 
poisonous!" 

"It's  an  unwholesome  looking  spot,"  said  Tem- 
pleton. 

74 


THE  MOUTHS  OF  BOORSH  75 

"And  what  are  we  to  do  now?"  asked  Chico. 
"Will  you  inquire?" 

The  Golden  One  spoke  volubly  as  Red  questioned 
her,  and  he  turned  to  us  with  the  information. 

"There's  a  secret  track  across  the  place,"  he  said. 
"We  must  stay  here  till  the  moon  comes  up.  She 
must  leave  us  now,  but  she  will  come  back  and  pilot 
us  across." 

"Why  can't  we  go  now?"  asked  Morgan. 

"There  are  watchers  among  the  rocks  on  the  other 
side.  We  couldn't  get  close  in  the  daytime." 

"And  won't  they  be  around  just  as  plentiful 
when  we  cross?"  questioned  Chico. 

"No,"  said  Templeton;  "they've  got  the  same 
complaint  that  Gung  and  the  carriers  suffered  from. 
They're  afraid  of  the  White  Mias." 

Chico  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  stopped,  and 
turned  toward  the  swamp.  We  were  watching,  too. 
Something  was  crashing  through  the  underbrush, 
and  as  we  stared,  a  small  boar  broke  from  the  jungle 
with  a  larger  animal  of  the  same  species  hard  upon 
its  track.  The  foam-flecked  brute  in  the  lead  was 
out  on  the  morass  before  he  seemed  to  realize  his 
position,  and  the  pursuer  was  so  blind  with  rage 
that  he  followed  madly. 

"Ugh!"  cried  Morgan.  "Look  how  those  green 
patches  shiver!" 


76  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

The  pursued  boar  attempted  to  make  a  dash  for 
the  bank,  but  his  antagonist  headed  him  off.  Grunt 
ing  loudly,  the  fugitive  made  a  sudden  turn  to  go 
back  over  the  ground  that  he  had  covered,  but  one 
of  the  mouths  was  ready  for  that  turn.  The  pig 
slipped,  went  headfirst  into  the  green  patch,  and 
disappeared  bodily.  The  grass  upon  the  lip  of  the 
place  rocked  up  and  down  in  a  manner  that  brought 
a  horrible  suggestion  of  mastication  to  our  minds. 

"Father  o'  me!"  gasped  Red.  "Watch  the 
other!" 

The  pursuing  boar  had  halted  the  moment  that 
he  saw  his  quarry  disappear,  then,  quivering  with 
fear,  and  with  his  bristles  erect,  he  backed  from  the 
quaking  mouth.  But,  alas!  for  the  pig!  His  hind 
feet  slipped  into  another  of  the  horrible  openings, 
and  with  a  wild  squeal  of  terror  he  disappeared. 

Chico  looked  at  the  Golden  One,  and  the  girl  put 
out  her  hand  as  she  spoke  swiftly  to  Templeton. 

"She  has  to  leave  us  at  once,"  said  Red.  "We 
must  stay  under  cover  right  here,  and  she  will  be 
back  the  moment  the  moon  rises." 

The  girl  smiled  sweetly,  slipped  out  of  the  bushes, 
and  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  morass  for  about  fifty 
yards.  Here  she  turned  toward  the  middle  of  the 
swamp,  and  we  watched  her  from  our  hiding-place. 
Very  slowly  and  with  much  care  she  made  her  way, 


THE  MOUTHS  OF  BOORSH  77 

zigzagging  cautiously  across  the  morass.  Now  she 
would  move  fifteen  or  twenty  paces  to  the  right,  go 
straight  ahead  for  another  score,  and  then  move  to 
the  left  in  order  to  get  a  clear  path  between  the 
treacherous  mouths  that  were  like  so  many  ulcers 
in  the  thin,  slimy  crust  of  the  place. 

She  was  over  three  quarters  of  an  hour  crossing  to 
the  copper-covered  hills  on  the  far  side,  and  we 
gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief  as  we  saw  her  disappear. 
The  manner  in  which  those  two  pigs  had  gone  from 
our  sight  had  upset  our  nerves. 

"Well,"  muttered  Templeton,  dragging  his  gaze 
from  the  hills  on  the  far  side,  "we're  in  the  business 
to  the  end  now.  The  real  game  will  start  to-night. 
I  think  the  girl  will  act  honestly  with  us." 

"Of  course  she  will,"  growled  Chico.  "Pd 
gamble  my  life  on  her." 

"And  now  what's  the  plan  of  campaign?"  asked 
Red. 

"Locate  the  hiding-place  of  the  sword  and  get 
away  with  it  as  quickly  as  possible,"  said  Morgan. 
"We  don't  want  to  give  battle  to  the  whole  village. 
How  many  did  she  say  are  living  there?" 

"It's  a  big  kampong.  There  must  be  a  couple  of 
thousand." 

"Then  we'll  show  discretion,"  muttered  Chico. 
"If  I  get  my  hands  upon  that  big  prize  with  its 


78  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

handle  of  emerald  I  won't  stop  running  till  I  reach 
the  Barito." 

The  sun  dropped  lower  and  lower,  and  we  sat 
there  in  the  tangle  of  creepers  and  waited  patiently. 
We  felt  that  we  were  very  close  to  the  wonder  that 
we  were  in  search  of.  I  don't  know  why  we  felt  so 
confident,  but  the  very  eerieness  of  our  surroundings 
seemed  to  make  us  feel  that  our  expedition  would  be 
successful.  Still,  when  we  thrust  our  chances  under 
the  cold  glare  of  common  sense,  we  received  a  chill  as 
we  pictured  the  teeming  village  upon  the  other  side 
and  compared  it  with  our  own  strength. 

"Three  men  against  a  thousand  or  so,"  I  ventured 
to  remark,  after  Templeton  had  mentioned  the  prob 
able  strength  of  the  kampong. 

"Numbers  don't  count,"  said  Chico  Morgan. 
"And  every  adventure  that  was  ever  planned  was 
against  common  sense.  Common  sense  is  the  kind 
of  stuff  that  glues  you  to  a  ten-dollar-a-week  job 
while  others  go  out  collecting  spoil.  Didn't  you  say 
that  this  blade  would  cause  a  revolution,  Templeton?" 

"I  did,"  answered  Red.  "It  will  stir  the  East 
like  a  flame.  This  tribe  of  Kyans  have  no  dealings 
with  the  sea  Dyaks,  or  they  would  have  known  of  its 
value  years  ago." 

The  sun  touched  the  belt  of  jungle,  and  the  last 
rays  stained  that  morass  the  colour  of  blood.  A 


THE  MOUTHS  OF  BOORSH  79 

thin  vapour  seemed  to  rise  from  it  as  the  heat  of  the 
day  decreased,  and  those  vapour  shapes  looked  any 
thing  but  reassuring  to  us.  It  would  not  take  a 
vivid  imagination  to  think  of  them  as  the  ghosts  of 
those  who  had  been  swallowed  up  in  that  quivering 
slough. 

Templeton  interrupted  us  in  our  contemplation 
of  the  rising  vapours.  He  placed  a  big  hand  on  each 
of  our  heads  and  pushed  us  forward  so  that  we  could 
peep  through  a  hole  which  he  had  cut  in  the  curtain  of 
green. 

"  Look ! "  he  whispered.     "At  the  swamp !   Look ! " 

Of  all  the  extraordinary  happenings  that  took 
place  on  that  journey  of  journeys,  none  impressed 
me  more  than  the  sight  which  met  our  eyes  at  that 
moment.  I  don't  know  why.  We  witnessed 
occurrences  that  were  more  thrilling,  but  that  one 
particular  incident  lives  in  my  memory.  It  is  an 
undigested  happening  which  refuses  to  be  brought 
down  to  the  level  of  commonplace  recollections  by 
the  acid  of  time. 

Through  the  ghostly  mists  that  were  rising  from 
the  morass  moved  a  human  python,  hundreds  of  feet 
in  length.  It  was  a  column  of  natives  that  twisted 
in  and  out  among  the  green  mouths  as  it  moved 
slowly  toward  the  copper-coloured  slopes  on  the  far 
side  of  the  quagmire. 


8o  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Over  a  thousand,"  muttered  Red. 

"Nearer  two,"  said  Chico.  "What  are  they 
carrying?" 

We  stared  at  the  bamboo  poles  which  the  leading 
four  carried  upon  their  shoulders,  then,  as  if  the 
knowledge  had  come  to  us  at  the  same  moment,  we 
glanced  into  each  other's  faces. 

"  Suffering  sinners ! "  gasped  Templeton.     "  It  is ! " 

Chico  was  bobbing  his  head  as  he  counted  slowly, 
then  he  moistened  his  lips  before  pronouncing  the 
tally. 

"Ten,"  he  said  quietly.  "Gung  must  have  es 
caped  from  them." 

Red  Templeton  and  I  checked  the  trophies  that 
were  slung  by  pieces  of  rattan  to  the  bamboos. 
There  were  only  ten.  One  of  the  Dyaks  or  the 
Hindu  had  escaped  the  slaughter  and  had  managed 
to  save  his  headpiece  from  becoming  a  smoked 
ornament  in  the  village  in  the  copper-coloured 
hills. 

The  line  manosuvred  till  our  eyes  grew  dim  in 
watching  it.  Very  slowly  the  thousand  or  more 
naked  warriors  worked  their  way  across  the  swamp, 
and  as  they  got  farther  and  farther  away  from  our 
hiding-place,  the  vapours  from  the  wet  ground  came 
up  between  us  like  a  curtain,  and  through  occasional 
breaks  we  watched  with  a  strange  fascination  the 


THE  MOUTHS  OF  BOORSH  81 

followers  of  the  Spotted  Panther  go  into  the  fast 
falling  night. 

That  was  a  review  that  struck  terror  into  us. 
The  place  seemed  dead  before  we  had  sighted  the 
human  centipede  moving  across  the  swamp,  now 
it  seemed  packed  with  life.  We  pictured  the  teem 
ing  village  upon  the  other  side  as  our  fingers  tight 
ened  on  our  revolvers  and  rifles,  and  the  gurgling 
noise  of  the  devilish  morass  came  to  our  ears  as  if  it 
mocked  our  efforts. 

"  I  wouldn't  care  to  cross  that  place  in  the  dark," 
said  Chico.  "I  hope  when  we're  doing  a  retreat 
from  the  other  side  that  we'll  pick  a  nice  day  for  the 
job." 

"Let's  hope  we'll  have  a  say  as  regards  the 
time,"  muttered  Templeton.  "  If  I  could  turn  round 
and  go  back  I'd  go,  but  by  all  that  I  hold  sacred,  I 
can't  go!  I  must  go  on!  I  brought  you  two  into 
this  business,  and  if  you  want  to  turn  around " 

"Shut  up!"  interrupted  Morgan.  "We  knew 
what  kind  of  a  game  we  were  up  against  before  we 
decided  to  come.  And  we're  like  you,  we  couldn't 
turn  tail  if  we  wanted  to.  That  big  Sword  of  Bud 
dha  is  dancing  before  my  eyes  day  and  night.  How 
is  it  with  you,  Lenford?" 

"I'm  in  the  same  condition,"  I  answered.  "I 
want  to  see  the  sword." 


82  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Chico  pulled  a  flask  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  out 
to  Red.  "Drink'to  it,"  he  said.  "We'll  get  it  or  it  will 
get  us,  and  we  won't  grumble  at  fate  whichever  way 
the  cards  fall." 

We  drank  the  toast  that  Chico  had  given,  and  then 
we  crouched  in  the  darkness  and  waited.  Morgan 
had  told  the  truth  when  he  said  that  the  sword  was 
continually  before  his  eyes.  It  was  before  the  eyes 
of  the  three  of  us.  The  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire 
had  appeared  wonderful  to  us  that  night  when  we 
had  seen  it  in  Banjermassin,  but  the  Great  Parong 
of  Buddha  appeared  a  thousand  times  more  wonder 
ful  as  we  thought  of  the  stories  which  Templeton  and 
Gung  had  told  us  concerning  it.  The  big  blade  was 
the  foundation  of  a  thousand  wonderful  legends. 
With  it,  according  to  Hindu  myth,  Buddha  had  cut 
the  stars  of  the  heavens  into  their  proper  sizes  before 
flinging  them  into  space,  and  it  is  in  the  records 
of  the  Rock  Temple  of  Udis  that  the  great  teacher 
had  used  the  weapons  to  sever  the  flaming  wire 
which  the  legions  of  sin  had  bound  around  the  earth. 
If  the  exhibition  of  the  sacred  tooth  of  Gautama  in 
the  Temple  of  Kandy  produced  such  unrest  among 
the  Singhalese  that  the  English  Government  was 
forced  to  prohibit  the  Buddhist  priests  from  exhibit 
ing  the  relic,  we  wondered  what  frenzy  of  excitement 
would  be  produced  when  we  carried  the  long-lost 


THE  MOUTHS  OF  BOORSH  83 

sword  from  Borneo  to  the  mainland,  where  millions 
were  awaiting  its  reappearance. 

A  pale  glow  appeared  upon  the  horizon,  and  we 
watched  the  morass.  The  moon  was  rising,  and 
with  the  moon  would  come  Nao,  the  Golden  One,  to 
guide  us  across  the  quivering  plain  that  lay  between 
us  and  the  village. 

"The  capture  of  the  Dyak  carriers  might  make 
them  suspicious  to-night,"  whispered  Templeton. 
"She  might  have  a  job  to  get  away." 

"She'll  get  away,"  muttered  Chico. 

"Let's  hope  so,"  I  said.  "I'm  hungry  for  a  look 
at  the  sword,  but  the  way  that  pig  disappeared  has 
scared  me  off  any  attempt  to  make  the  trip  without  a 
guide." 

The  moon  peeped  above  the  jungle  belt,  and  our 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  morass  as  the  ghostly  light 
made  it  perceptible.  Ten  million  frogs  were  croak 
ing  in  that  place.  Their  music  went  up  into  the 
night,  and  we  wondered  how  the  gentle  headhunter 
could  woo  slumber  with  the  racket  at  his  front  door. 

"I  hope  they  do  this  every  evening,"  whispered 
Chico.  "If  it  is  a  special  uproar  on  account  of  some 
frog  festival,  it's  likely  to  cause  insomnia  in  the 
camp." 

Chico  Morgan  possessed  a  fund  of  humour  that 
prevented  him  from  taking  a  pessimistic  view  of  any 


84  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

situation  in  which  he  might  find  himself,  but  the 
landscape  that  confronted  us  that  evening  was  of  a 
kind  that  would  try  the  nerves  of  the  most  confirmed 
optimist  in  the  world.  Running  like  an  undernote 
in  the  terrific  frog  chorus  was  the  unholy  grumbling 
and  gurgling  of  the  Million  Mouths  of  Boorsh,  and  one 
could  not  keep  the  imagination  from  speculating  on 
the  slaughter  that  those  mouths  had  accomplished. 

"It's  getting  late,"  murmured  Templeton.  "I've 
been  straining  my  eyes,  but  I  can't  see " 

A  slight  noise  in  the  bushes  to  the  left  made 
Templeton  stop  abruptly,  and  we  listened  attentively. 
The  surrounding  undergrowth  offered  fine  possi 
bilities  for  a  sporting  headhunter  who  might  fire  his 
little  poisoned  darts  into  our  hiding-place  or  creep  up 
close  enough  to  get  in  a  finishing  stroke  with  a  razor- 
edged  parong. 

The  frogs  took  a  slight  intermission  as  frogs 
sometimes  do  when  the  leader  of  the  bass  is  dis 
turbed,  and  in  that  little  intermission  we  heard  a 
silvery  voice  whispering  into  the  night.  It  whis 
pered  one  word,  and  it  repeated  that  word  over 
and  over  again  like  a  child  learning  a  lesson. 

"Leesbon!  Leesbon!  Leesbon!"  Nao  had  caught 
the  name  of  Lisbon  when  Chico  had  said  that  it  was 
the  place  where  she  belonged,  and  she  was  using  it 
as  a  countersign  in  making  her  way  toward  us. 


CHAPTER  VH 

ONE-WHO-NEVER-SLEPT 

OF  THE  thoughts  of  Morgan  and  Templeton 
as  we  put  foot  upon  that  morass  I  cannot 
write.  They  gave  no  outward  sign  that 
they  experienced  any  thrill  out  of  the  common,  and 
I  am  firmly  convinced  that  if  the  world  was  can 
vassed  to  find  two  men  who  would  face  that  place 
without  betraying  the  slightest  fear,  no  two  could  be 
found  better  qualified  than  Red  and  Chico.  But  of 
my  own  feelings  I  can  speak  authoritatively.  As  we 
followed  Nao  out  upon  the  shaking  crust  on  which 
the  peculiar  ulcerlike  openings  appeared  at  close 
intervals,  my  physical  fear  was  such  that  I  had,  for 
the  first  time  during  the  trip,  a  mad  desire  to  thrust 
my  craving  for  the  sword  from  my  mind  and  rush 
for  the  Barito. 

I  think  Chico  Morgan  understood  my  feelings. 
He  made  as  if  he  would  follow  Templeton,  who 
walked  next  to  the  Golden  One,  but  he  changed  his 
mind,  and  pushing  me  next  to  Red,  he  took  the  tail 
end  of  the  procession. 

85 


86  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"  It  takes  me  back  to  Vermont,"  he  said.  "  Can't 
you  imagine  that  you're  testing  the  ice,  and  that 
you'll  get  a  blamed  good  wettingif  you  flop  through?" 

"We'll  get  something  more  than  a  wetting  if  we 
break  through  this  crust,"  I  spluttered. 

"But  we  won't  break  through,"  said  Chico. 
"Don't  you  remember  how  we  got  into  this  deal? 
We  went  out  for  a  stroll  because  we  were  mighty  near 
crying  for  old  Broadway,  and  now,  Lenford,  I  feel 
we're  going  to  get  the  treasure  that  will  take  us  back 
in  style." 

Up  and  down  on  that  flaky  crust  went  Nao,  and  we 
followed  her  carefully.  There  were  a  dozen  dif 
ferent  routes  across  the  place,  but  she  assured  Tem- 
pleton  that  she  was  taking  us  by  the  easiest  way,  and 
the  one  which  would  best  suit  her  plans  when  we 
reached  the  other  side. 

"Will  there  be  any  one  at  the  end  of  the  track?" 
asked  Chico. 

Red  put  the  question  and  translated  the  girl's 
reply.  "We  will  be  received  by  a  person  called 
'One-Who-Never-Slept,'  "  he  said.  "She  says  that 
she  will  explain  everything  before  we  get  across,  so  I 
guess  it  is  no  use  rushing  her  with  inquiries." 

The  moon  was  blotted  out  by  a  pack  of  fat  clouds 
when  we  were  but  halfway  across  the  place,  and  as 
progress  was  impossible  in  a  bad  light  we  had  to 


ONE-WHO-NEVER-SLEPT  87 

stand  still  and  wait  till  the  heavy  masses  had  rolled 
from  the  face  of  the  orb.  I  cursed  those  slow-moving 
clouds  during  the  enforced  wait.  The  ground 
shivered  at  intervals,  reminding  one  of  the  pre 
liminary  tremors  of  an  earthquake,  and  that  shivery 
feeling  crawled  intomysystem  till  my  teeth  chattered. 
To  make  the  wait  more  terrifying  the  frogs  ceased 
their  uproar,  and  we  waited  in  a  silence  that  was 
broken  only  by  the  gurgling  noise  of  the  mouths 
that  were  all  around  us., 

"It  would  be  unlucky  if  a  storm  came  up,"  whis 
pered  the  irrepressible  Chico.  "We  should  have  to 
camp  here  till  morning,  and  then  the  Spotted  Pan 
ther's  lookout  would  pipe  us  off  while  we  were  scoot 
ing  back  to  the  other  side." 

A  frog  of  enormous  size  hopped  upon  my  shoe  at 
that  moment,  and  I  understood  the  condition  of  my 
nerves  by  the  shock  which  I  experienced.  The 
Million  Mouths  of  Boorsh  had  made  a  heavy  draught 
upon  my  courage. 

The  moon  fought  herself  free  of  the  cloud-wrack 
after  what  seemed  an  eternity,  and  Nao  went  for 
ward  slowly  and  carefully.  To  us  there  seemed  no 
track  upon  the  flaky  surface  of  the  place.  We 
conjectured  that  any  marks  made  upon  the  sur 
face  would  be  blotted  out  by  the  moisture, 
and  we  realized  that  the  girl  was  finding  her  way 


88  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

by  mental  pictures  of  the  different  mouths  which 
we  skirted. 

The  rocks  of  the  other  side  loomed  up  in  front  of 
us  at  last,  and  my  fears  of  death  from  suffocation 
in  thick  black  mud  were  somewhat  abated.  I 
thought  that  death  might  await  us  in  the  kampong 
of  the  Spotted  Panther,  but  a  death  of  any  other 
kind  was  preferable  to  a  death  in  the  middle  of  that 
morass. 

A  ridge  of  black  rocks  came  up  before  us,  and  when 
we  had  reached  these,  the  Golden  One  called  a  halt. 
We  guessed  from  the  manner  in  which  the  swamp 
stretched  out  on  either  side  of  the  rocks  that  they 
formed  an  island  in  the  sea  of  horrible  mud,  and  our 
surmise  proved  correct. 

We  halted  near  a  big  boulder,  and  Nao  proceeded 
to  explain  rapidly  to  Templeton  the  difficulties  that 
lay  immediately  before  us,  and  Red  translated  her 
words. 

"On  the  other  side  of  these  rocks  is  a  channel  of 
mud  dividing  us  from  the  shore,"  whispered  Tem 
pleton,  "and  that  is  where  the  person  that  Nao  calls 
'One-Who-Never-Slept'  is  on  guard." 

"And  how  are  we  to  get  across  the  channel?" 
asked  Chico. 

The  Golden  One  started  to  talk  rapidly  as  if  she 
understood  Morgan's  question.  She  was  evidently 


ONE-WHO-NEVER-SLEPT  89 

much  excited,  and,  as  she  spoke,  she  put  her  two 
shapely  arms  above  her  head  and  made  a  movement 
that  suggested  an  aerial  swing.  Morgan  and  I 
cursed  our  inability  to  grip  the  meaning  of  her 
words,  and  we  waited  anxiously  for  Templeton's 
version. 

"Now  we're  getting  into  action,"  said  Red. 
"According  to  her  explanation  there  is  a  swinging 
rope  across  the  little  channel,  but  the  guard  on  the 
other  side  controls  the  rope.  When  the  right  pass 
word  comes  from  this  side  he  lets  the  rope  fly  over 
to  the  signaller,  and  the  visitor  swings  across.  The 
fibre  rope  is  tied  to  the  limb  of  a  tree  that  grows  out 
over  the  channel  from  the  side  that  the  watcher  is 
on." 

Chico  whistled  softly  and  looked  hard  at  Nao,  who 
was  studying  the  heavens  as  if  interested  in  the  fat 
clouds  that  seemed  to  be  surrounding  the  white 


moon. 

M 


And  how  are  we  to  get  Mr.  Sleepless  to  pass  us 
through?"  asked  Morgan. 

A  big  cloud  sprang  upon  the  moon  as  Chico  put 
the  question,  and  the  Golden  One  showed  intense 
excitement  as  she  turned  toward  Templeton. 

"What's  happened?"  I  questioned. 

"The  right  moment  has  arrived,"  said  Templeton. 
"She'll  give  the  signal  while  the  moon  is  under  the 


90  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

cloud,  and,  when  the  rope  comes  across,  one  of  us 
must  swing  over  the  channel  and  stop  old  Never- 
Blink  from  making  a  noise." 

Nao  was  moving  across  the  rock  at  that  moment, 
and,  as  we  followed  her,  we  began  to  think  that  her 
beautiful  head  contained  sufficient  gray  matter  to 
build  a  scheme  or  two.  She  had  been  waiting  for 
that  cloud  pack  to  obscure  the  moon,  and  now  she 
motioned  us  to  hurry  as  she  sped  across  the  rocks. 

"Who'll  swing  across?"  I  whispered. 

"Leave  it  to  her,"  answered  Templeton.  "Let 
her  run  this  part  of  the  business  as  she  thinks  fit." 

Nao  halted  us  behind  a  big  rock  and  we  waited  in 
silence.  From  somewhere  to  the  right  came  a  nasal 
chant,  but  the  clouds  had  so  effectually  smothered 
the  moon  that  we  could  not  see  the  singer.  But 
we  knew  that  we  were  close  to  the  channel.  The 
gurgling  that  we  had  missed  while  crossing  the 
rocks  was  quite  close  to  us  now,  and  we  understood 
that  the  person  chanting  the  Malayan  poem  was  the 
guardian  of  the  swinging  rope. 

Nao  touched  Chico  with  her  little  hand,  motioned 
to  him  to  walk  immediately  behind  her,  then  moving 
out  upon  a  smooth  platform  of  rock,  she  sent  a  hail 
across  the  river  of  mud. 

The  guard  replied  with  a  question  which  was 
evidently  answered  to  his  satisfaction,  but  it  was 


ONE-WHO-NEVER-SLEPT  91 

clear  to  us  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  things 
in  a  methodical  and  leisurely  fashion.  And  he  did 
something  at  that  moment  that  startled  us  exceed 
ingly.  With  the  evident  intention  of  giving  the 
Golden  One  sufficient  light  to  enable  her  to  swing 
across  the  channel  in  safety,  he  set  fire  to  a  huge 
torch  of  resin-wood,  and  we  crouched  as  the  light 
flashed  across  the  mud. 

Chico,  who  was  standing  behind  Nao,  immedi 
ately  dropped  upon  his  hands  and  knees,  and  with 
thumping  hearts  we  watched  the  Dyak  wave  the 
torch  above  his  head.  If  he  discovered  Morgan  he 
would  raise  an  alarm  that  would  bring  the  village 
down  upon  us,  and  we  cursed  him  as  he  stood  and 
peered  across  at  the  girl.  At  that  moment  we  saw 
the  huge  limb  of  the  mohor  tree  that  grew  out  over 
the  channel,  and  the  long  rope  of  plaited  fibre  that 
hung  from  it,  one  end  of  which  was  tied  loosely 
round  a  projection  of  rock  at  the  side  of  the  watchful 
sentinel. 

"Damn  him!"  breathed  Templeton. 

Nao  gave  an  impatient  cry,  and  the  One-Who- 
Never-Slept  unwound  the  rope  from  the  rocky  pro 
jection.  Holding  the  torch  high  above  his  head,  he 
rolled  the  loose  end  into  a  ball,  and  jerked  it  across 
the  channel. 

The  girl  caught  it  deftly,  and,  raising  her  arms 


92  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

above  her  head,  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  preparing 
to  jump.  Never-Blink  was  watching  as  if  he  found 
enjoyment  in  noting  the  light  of  the  torch  flash  upon 
the  golden  limbs  of  the  girl,  and  we  prayed  that  he 
would  give  his  attention  to  something  else  so  that 
Chico  would  get  an  opportunity  to  take  the  place  of 
the  maid. 

But  the  sentinel  showed  no  intention  of  heeding 
the  mental  suggestion  which  we  tried  to  convey,  and 
we  waited  breathlessly.  Each  moment  we  expected 
him  to  locate  Chico  and  send  a  wild  yell  of  warning 
into  the  night.  Templeton  was  breathing  in  a 
manner  that  brought  visions  of  an  apoplectic  seizure, 
and  Nao  was  evidently  upset,  by  the  keen  scrutiny 
of  the  eyes  upon  the  other  side. 

It  was  Red  who  relieved  the  tension.  He  under 
stood  that  Morgan  could  not  make  an  attempt  while 
the  light  of  the  torch  was  upon  the  place  where  the 
girl  was  standing,  and  he  realized  that  Nao  might  do 
something  foolish  if  nothing  were  done  to  relieve  the 
strain.  Besides,  the  moon  was  pushing  its  way 
through  the  .clouds  that  had  covered  her  so  oppor 
tunely.  Templeton  seized  a  piece  of  rock,  and,  rising 
upon  his  knees,  he  flung  the  missile  at  the  torch- 
holder  on  the  other  side! 

There  was  never  a  stone  flung  with  such  unerring 
aim.  The  rock  hit  the  sentinel  on  the  jaw,  and  his 


ONE-WHO-NEVER-SLEPT  93 

thin  legs  crumpled  beneath  him.  Still  clinging  to 
the  torch,  he  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  the  effort 
only  brought  him  into  more  trouble.  Chico  Morgan 
had  sprung  for  the  rope  the  moment  Templeton's 
missile  had  struck  the  mark,  and,  as  One-Who-Never- 
Slept  attempted  to  rise,  Chico's  heavy  shoes  smashed 
against  his  chest  and  sent  him  backward.  Never- 
Blink  had  lost  his  reputation  at  last. 

Templeton  followed  Morgan  when  Chico  flung  back 
the  rope,  then  the  Golden  One  shot  like  a  bird  across 
the  muddy  channel,  and  I  followed  her.  The  moon 
was  clear  of  the  clouds,  and  we  could  see  plainly  the 
platform  of  rock  that  was  worn  smooth  by  the  feet 
of  the  warriors  of  the  Spotted  Panther.  Farther 
along  the  rocky  bank  there  were  half  a  dozen  other 
ropes  that  were  evidently  put  in  use  when  the  head- 
hunters  were  out  in  force,  as  we  had  seen  them  that 
afternoon  as  they  made  their  way  across  the  Million 
Mouths  of  Boorsh. 

"We  had  luck,"  muttered  Chico,  as  he  gagged  old 
Never-Blink.  "That  was  a  good  idea  of  yours  to 
crack  his  jaw  with  a  rock." 

"If  it  had  missed  we'd  have  been  in  a  fix,"  said 
Red.  "He'd  have  made  enough  row  with  this  thing 
to  wake  the  dead." 

He  pointed  to  a  "bull-roarer,"  the  strange  wooden 
instrument  used  by  some  of  the  Kyan  tribes  to  pro- 


94  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

duce  noise,  and  I  blessed  the  accuracy  of  Red's  aim. 
I  shuddered  as  I  contemplated  a  wild  run  across  the 
gurgling  morass  with  a  thousand  fleet-footed  fol 
lowers  of  the  Panther  on  our  trail.  The  thoughts 
of  such  a  pursuit  brought  back  pictures  of  the 
ten  trophies  which  we  had  seen  carried  upon 
the  bamboo  poles  at  the  head  of  the  snaky  line  of 
warriors. 

Chico  finished  his  job  of  trussing  up  the  half- 
stunned  watchman,  and  then  we  stood  in  a  circle 
and  looked  at  each  other.  We  had  gained  the  shore, 
but  we  had  formed  no  plan  as  to  how  we  should  pro 
ceed.  Templeton  and  Morgan  had  fixed  convictions 
that  plans  were  only  useful  where  there  was  no  oppo 
sition,  so  we  had  wasted  no  thought  upon  what  we 
should  do  at  the  village  till  we  were  certain  that  we 
would  arrive  there  with  our  heads  attached  to  our 
bodies. 

A  winding  path  led  up  a  slight  slope  immediately 
in  front  of  us,  and  at  the  top  of  the  rise,  we  knew  from 
the  description  furnished  us  by  the  Golden  One,  was 
the  village. 

"Ask  her  if  she  can  guide  us  to  the  spot  now," 
whispered  Chico.  "See  if  she  knows  the  exact  place 
where  the  sword  is  hidden?" 

Templeton  fired  the  questions  at  the  girl  swiftly, 
and  she  answered  rapidly. 


ONE-WHO-NEVER-SLEPT  95 

"She  knows  where  it  is  hidden,"  said  Red,  "but 
she  is  doubtful  if  we  can  get  in  to-night." 

"Why?"  questioned  Chico. 

"  It  takes  a  hundred  men  to  move  the  stone  at  the 
door  of  the  cave.  There  is  a  crevice  in  the  rock 
through  which  the  sword  could  be  seen  by  the  people, 
but  it  was  through  the  crevice  that  the  Chalice  of 
Everlasting  Fire  was  stolen,  and  since  then  the  Great 
Parong  'is  removed  out  of  the  reach  of  thieves.  She 
says  if  we  could  remove  the  stone  slab  we " 

"But  how  the  devil  does  she  think  we  could  move 
it?"  interrupted  Chico. 

Templeton  looked  at  the  girl,  whose  glorious  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Morgan,  then  he  spoke  softly  to  Chico. 
"We  must  go  quietly,"  he  said.  "She  thinks  that 
little  obstructions  are  nothing  to  you.  Do  you 
understand?  She  has  booked  you  up  as  a  sort  of 
demigod,  and  she  tells  me  this  little  tale  about  the 
stone  slab  as  if  it  made  no  difference  to  you." 

Morgan's  mouth  opened,  but  no  words  escaped. 
He  stared  at  Nao  for  a  few  moments,  then  he  looked 
up  the  little  shadowy  path  that  zigzagged  up  the 
slope. 

Red  put  a  question  and  the  girl  answered,  then  he 
turned  to  Chico. 

"The  cave  is  open  on  the  nights  of  the  Blood 
Moon,"  he  said  quickly.  "She  doesn't  know  when 


96  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

that  will  be.  It  depends  on  the  moon  and  the 
brother  of  the  Panther.  Seven  nights  ago  was  the 
last  time  that  the  stone  was  rolled  away." 

"Glory  be!"  murmured  Morgan.  "Will  you  ask 
her  where  we  can  stow  ourselves  away  to  think 
about  the  situation." 

"She  knows  a  place,"  said  Red.  "She  is  willing 
to  guarantee  our  safety,  and  I'm  willing  to  trust  her 
to  the  last." 

"So  am  I,"  snapped  Chico.  "Tell  me  what  to  do 
with  Never-Blink  and  I'll  follow  on." 

We  looked  at  the  trussed  Kyan  on  the  rock,  and 
the  girl,  as  if  she  understood  the  matter  under  dis 
cussion,  spoke  rapidly  to  Red. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Morgan. 

"She  says,"  whispered  Templeton,  "that  the 
White  Mias  has  been  known  to  cross  the  swamp  and 
kill  a  sentinel.  That  is  the  reason  why  there  is  no 
bridge  across  this  channel.  She  thinks  if  he  fell  into 
the  mud  that  they  would  put  the  job  at  the  door  of 
the  orang-utan  legion." 

The  naivete  of  the  girl  would  have  made  us  smile 
at  any  other  time,  but  we  were  in  no  mood  for  laugh 
ter  at  that  moment.  There  were  a  thousand  dan 
gers  to  be  faced  before  we  could  put  our  eyes  on  the 
Great  Sword  of  Buddha,  and  retreat  was  impossible 
now.  We  had  to  go  on  to  the  end,  and  as  we  stood 


ONE-WHO-NEVER-SLEPT  97 

looking  down  at  the  sentinel  a  cold  puff  of  air  came 
across  the .  gurgling  morass,  and  I  shivered  as  I 
thought  of  the  mystery  which  surrounded  us. 
Here  in  a  backwater  of  time  was  a  treasure  of  which 
four  hundred  million  people  dreamed  as  their  ances 
tors  had  dreamed  for  centuries  —  centuries  that  had 
piled  themselves  one  on  top  of  another  till  the  story 
of  the  Great  Sword  was  adjudged  a  fable  by  Western 
investigators  who  had  endeavoured  to  trace  its 
history.  But  the  Orient  believed.  Time  matters 
nothing  to  the  East,  and  if  proof  is  not  there  — 
well,  why  worry? 

Chico  stooped  suddenly  and  put  his  hand  on  the 
breast  of  the  watchman. 

"Wow!  "he  exclaimed.  "He's  dead!  Either  the 
stone  on  the  jaw  or  the  collision  with  me,  or  perhaps 
his  wounded  pride,  has  sent  him  over  the  dark  river. 
Well,  it  saves  us  from  a  very  vexatious  problem.  I 
couldn't  think  of  tumbling  a  live  man  into  this 
gurgling  mass,  but  now  it  doesn't  matter  much. 
Lend  a  hand,  Lenford,  and  then  we'll  go  ahead." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    SPOTTED    PANTHER 

IT  IS  the  soul  of  a  country  that  goes  out  across 
the  seas  and  creates  impressions.  The  dweller 
at  the  end  of  the  world  who  has  read  little  about 
America,  England,  France,  Germany,  or  a  score  of 
other  countries  that  we  call  clean  and  wholesome, 
senses  their  wholesomeness.  It  comes  to  him  on  the 
breeze.  And  that  night  as  we  crawled  up  the  little 
path  that  led  from  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh,  we  under 
stood  why  Borneo  had  created  an  atmosphere  of 
fear.  A  country  is  like  a  human  being.  We  instinc 
tively  hate  the  low-browed  ruffian  before  we  ex 
change  words  with  him,  and  in  the  same  manner  we 
sense  a  country  of  which  we  have  read  little.  And 
we  felt  as  we  peered  over  the  rise  that  we  were  look 
ing  at  the  real  dark  soul  of  Borneo  which  had  made 
the  land  unattractive  to  people  who  had  neither 
visited  nor  read  of  it. 

"Body  o'  me!"  whispered  Chico.  "What  a 
sweet,  little  camp!" 

Red  Templeton  swept  his  eyes  over  the  place  and 

98 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER  99 

then  glanced  at  the  girl.  The  Golden  One  had  lived 
in  that  village  all  her  life,  and  as  we  looked  at  the 
kampong,  and  then  at  the  sweet  face  of  the  girl,  we 
thought  of  a  violet  growing  in  a  pit  of  filth  and 
darkness. 

There  is  no  other  place  in  the  world  that  could 
inspire  the  terror  which  seemed  to  well  out  from  that 
village.  We  thought  that  the  centuries  had  given  it 
a  devilish  appearance,  and  that  every  deed  of  blood 
committed  there  hung  above  the  place.  Chico 
Morgan  and  Templeton  were  not  of  the  imaginative 
kind,  but  in  the  first  few  minutes  after  we  gained 
the  rise  and  crouched  to  examine  the  village  thor 
oughly  before  moving  forward,  I  could  see  that  both 
were  impressed  by  the  very  essence  of  villainy  which 
seemed  to  envelop  the  place. 

"It's  as  pretty  as  a  sleeping  cobra,"  muttered 
Templeton.  "Those  holes  in  the  rock  look  like 
tombs." 

The  village  proper  was  built  Dyak  fashion. 
Seven  long  houses  of  bark  and  timber,  covered  with 
palm  leaves  that  were  sewn  together  and  then  tied 
to  the  rafters  with  palm  fibre,  stood  in  a  row,  but 
these  houses,  although  they  looked  anything  but 
inviting,  were  not  responsible  for  the  chill  which  the 
place  gave  to  us.  Immediately  at  the  rear  of  the 
community  houses  was  a  cliff  of  copper-coloured 


ioo  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

rock  that  rose  to  a  great  height,  and  it  was  this  hill 
that  attracted  our  attention.  The  face  of  the  cliff 
was  bored  with  hundreds  of  round  holes,  and  it  was 
evident  that  the  followers  of  the  Spotted  Panther, 
either  too  lazy  to  build  wooden  houses,  or  thinking 
they  were  more  secure  from  the  attacks  of  enemies  if 
they  slept  at  a  greater  elevation,  had  scooped  out 
sleeping  quarters  in  the  soft  rock,  and  the  entrances 
of  these  chambers  appeared  to  us  like  so  many  blind 
eyes  as  we  stared  at  them  in  the  moonlight. 

"It's  a  good  job  we  stopped  old  Never-Blink  from 
twirling  that  bull-roarer,"  said  Chico.  "If  he  had 
sprung  an  alarm  they  would  have  been  on  us  like  a 
thousand  wolves." 

Beyond  the  long  family  houses  the  jungle  rose  up 
again  like  a  wall,  and  it  was  in  this  direction  that  Nao 
pointed  as  she  answered  the  questions  which  jTem- 
pleton  put  to  her  concerning  the  location  of  the  Cave 
of  the  Blood  Moon,  where  the  treasure  was  secreted. 

"She  says  that  the  cave  is  at  the  other  end  of  the 
village,"  said  Templeton.  "We  must  circle  around 
it  through  the  jungle,  and  we've  got  to  hurry.  The 
moon  will  set  in  a  few  hours,  and  we  must  find  a 
hiding-place." 

With  Nao  leading,  we  circled  the  sleeping  village, 
taking  especial  care  to  make  a  wide  detour  so  that 
there  would  be  no  chance  of  stumbling  upon  a  Dyak 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER  101 

warrior  taking  a  moonlight  stroll.  The  stillness  of 
the  place  was  amazing.  A  silence  that  was  depres 
sing  hung  above  the  long  houses  and  the  holes  in  the 
cliff,  and  we  were  surprised  at  hearing  no  sounds. 

But  the  Golden  One  explained  that  the  intense 
quiet  was  no  proof  that  every  villager  was  sleeping 
quietly. 

"She  says  that  they  are  scared  out  of  their  wits 
by  the  White  Mias,"  explained  Templeton.  "They 
get  into  their  holes  the  moment  it  is  dark,  and  they 
won't  come  out  till  daybreak.  Only  the  two  guards, 
one  at  each  end  of  the  village,  keep  watch." 

"And  why  isn't  Nao  afraid  to  be  out?"  asked 
Chico. 

Templeton  put  a  question  regarding  the  girl's 
fear  of  the  supposed  queen  of  the  orang-utans,  but 
for  a  minute  or  so  the  Golden  One  walked  on  with 
out  making  an  answer.  Presently  she  turned  and 
touched  Morgan  upon  the  arm,  and  Red  smiled  as 
he  translated  her  words. 

"You  saved  her  from  the  fellow  with  the  blow 
pipe,  so  she  thinks  you  can  save  her  from  anything," 
he  said. 

"Leesbon,"  whispered  the  girl  her  big  eyes  shining 
as  she  looked  at  Chico. 

"Lisbon  it  is,"  said  [Morgan.  "When  we  get  hold 
of  this  big  sword  you'll  get  a  share  that  will  make 


IO2  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

you  wealthy  enough  to  buy  the  biggest  castle  in  the 
whole  of  Portugal." 

Nao  smiled  like  a  child  as  we  slipped  rapidly 
through  the  jungle.  The  Lord  alone  knows  what  a 
procession  of  thoughts  streamed  through  her  brain 
from  the  moment  we  had  met  her  that  morning  at  the 
moss-covered  cross  in  the  jungle.  It  seemed  a  year 
to  us  as  we  circled  the  kampong,  but  it  must  have 
seemed  a  decade  to  the  Golden  One.  She  had  told 
Templeton  that  her  father  and  mother  were  both 
dead,  and  that  the  only  two  who  conversed  with  her 
in  the  Portuguese  tongue  were  two  old  women  who 
were  supposed  to  be  her  aunts.  There  were  others 
in  the  village  who  understood  the  language,  but  it 
was  against  the  wish  of  the  Spotted  Panther  for  it  to 
be  spoken,  and  when  she  did  use  it  in  addressing  the 
two  old  dames,  Nao  took  care  that  no  one  would 
overhear  the  conversation. 

We  came  out  upon  a  small  clearing  at  the  west  side 
of  the  village,  which  was  the  end  farthest  away  from 
the  morass,  and  the  girl  stopped.  Holding  up  her 
finger  as  a  warning  lest  we  might  make  a  noise  that 
would  alarm  the  sentinel  at  that  end  of  the  kampong, 
she  crossed  the  clearing,  and  stopped  before  a  stone 
cliff  that  seemed  part  of  the  same  ridge  into  which 
the  Orang  Bukkit  had  burrowed  for  sleeping 
places. 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER  103 

"Why  —  what  "  muttered  Templeton. 

"What  is " 

He  saw  then,  and  we  saw,  too.  The  shadow  of  the 
trees  had  fallen  upon  the  stone  wall,  and  for  the 
moment  we  had  not  seen  the  slab.  We  were  in 
front  of  the  Cave  of  the  Blood  Moon  in  which  the 
Parong  of  Buddha  and  many  other  things  that  we 
knew  not  of  were  secreted! 

I  know  that  we  forgot  the  stories  which  we  had 
heard  about  the  Spotted  Panther  in  the  minutes  that 
immediately  followed.  We  forgot  the  village  with 
its  hundreds  of  savage  warriors.  We  forgot  the  ten 
heads  which  we  had  seen  carried  across  the  swamp, 
we  forgot  everything  but  the  treasure  which  was  so 
near  to  us.  Gung  had  told  the  truth.  We  knew 
he  had,  but  the  proof  that  was  before  us  brought 
upon  us  a  mental  excitement  that  amounted  to  a 
delirium.  Up  before  our  eyes  sprang  a  picture  of  the 
waiting  Orient  —  the  ever  patient,  ever  waiting 
Orient  —  and  we  felt  inclined  to  shout  as  we  realized 
that  we  were  within  grasping  distance  of  the  thing 
which  the  East  had  waited  for  centuries  to  behold. 

And  strange  as  it  may  appear  now  that  I  set  it  down 
here  in  words,  we  seemed  to  feel  that  the  big  Sword 
felt  our  presence  and  responded  to  it.  This  seems 
an  insane  statement,  but  it  must  be  written.  Per 
haps  the  concentrated  thought  of  millions  may  have 


IO4  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

had  something  to  do  with  it.  I  cannot  explain  the 
feeling,  but  I  do  know  that  Templeton,  Morgan, 
and  I  felt  that  something  that  throbbed  with  life 
itself  was  waiting  within  that  place  for  us  to  liberate 
it.  Like  the  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire,  one  could 
think  of  that  Sword  as  being  charged  with  life.  For 
centuries  it  had  been  the  hub  around  which  the 
thoughts  of  all  good  Buddhists  had  constantly 
revolved,  and  if  the  power  of  thought  was  capable 
of  doing  anything  at  all,  those  two  articles  which  the 
buccaneer,  Enrique  de  Gama,  had  attempted  to 
carry  into  the  Western  World  were  surely  something 
more  than  mere  metal  and  precious  stones. 

Chico  Morgan  was  insane  at  that  moment.  He 
clutched  the  great  slab  of  stone  —  the  slab  that  the 
Golden  One  had  informed. us  was  so  heavy  that  it 
took  one  hundred  men  to  move  ;t  from  the  mouth 
of  the  cave  —  and  he  pulled  at  it  with  straining 
muscles. 

"Lend  a  hand!"  he  growled. 

"It's  useless,"  protested  Red.  "We  couldn't 
move  it." 

"Try,"  gasped  Chico.  "I  think  I  moved  it  a 
trifle!" 

Templeton  and  I  put  our  shoulders  against  the 
stone,  but  we  had  as  much  chance  of  moving  it  as  an 
ox  team  would  have  of  pulling  the  Khas  Mahal  at 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER  105 

Agra.  The  great  slab  of  stone  was  fitted  into  a 
trench  cut  in  the  rock,  and  it  was  only  by  means  of 
ropes  and  an  immense  amount  of  energy  that  it 
could  be  moved. 

Nao  had  watched  Chico  without  the  slightest  pro 
test  against  his  mad  attack  upon  the  slab.  Her 
faith  in  Morgan  was  immense.  As  the  big  American 
tugged  fiercely  at  the  stone  she  had  gazed  at  it  in  a 
manner  that  told  Templeton  and  me  that  she  would 
not  have  been  surprised  if  Chico  had  moved  it, 
although  she  had  asserted  that  it  took  one  hundred 
warriors  to  move  the  block  when  the  cave  was 
entered  at  irregular  intervals. 

Morgan  stopped  struggling,  kicked  the  slab  with 
his  shoe  and  turned  to  Templeton. 

"Ask  her  where  the  crevice  is!"  he  cried.  "  Quick! 
The  moon  is  going!" 

Red  put  the  question,  and  Nao  led  us  quickly 
to  the  crack  in  the  wall  of  the  cave  through  which 
Gung  and  Courtney  had  stolen  the  Chalice  of  Ever 
lasting  Fire.  The  fissure  was  caused  by  a  disrup 
tion  of  the  strata,  and  although  it  was  five  or  six 
feet  in  length,  it  was  not  more  than  eight  inches  in 
width  at  its  widest  point.  Why  the  wonderful  cup 
had  been  exposed  near  the  opening  was  something 
that  we  had  not  been  able  to  fathom,  but  as  Chico 
thrust  his  hand  into  the  crevice,  Nao  immediately 


io6  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

connected  the  movement  with  the  loss  of  the  Vessel 
of  Flame. 

"She  says  there  is  no  hope  of  reaching  anything 
that  way,"  said  Red.  "Courtney  and  Gung  must 
have  had  a  streak  of  luck  from  what  she  relates. 
The  Cup  was  left  out  after  the  door  was  shut,  and  it 
was  thrust  in  through  the  crevice  for  the  time  being." 

Chico  gave  up  his  search  in  disgust,  and,  much 
chagrined,  the  three  of  us  stood  back  and  looked  at 
the  treasure  vault. 

"If  I  had  a  plug  of  dynamite  I'd  blow  the  front 
out  of  it,"  growled  Morgan,  "and  I'd  take  a  chance 
of  getting  away  from  the  bunch  that  are  around  the 
quarters.'" 

"Dynamite  would  be  no  good,"  said  Templeton. 
"We  must  use  tact.  We  must  watch  and  wait. 
We  can  do  nothing  to-night,  so  we  had  better  let 
Nao  show  us  to  the  hiding-place  she  knows  of." 

"I  hate  to  leave  this  spot  for  a  minute,"  said  Chico. 
"I  hope  the  hiding-place  is  handy!" 

The  Golden  One  turned  as  Templeton  explained 
that  we  could  do  nothing  more  that  evening,  but 
she  had  not  taken  a  dozen  steps  when  she  stopped 
and  leaned  forward.  Her  ears,  keener  than  ours, 
had  caught  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  we  wriggled 
into  the  velvety  shadow  of  the  rocky  wall  as  the 
sounds  became  more  distinct.  The  night  prowler 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER  107 

was  coming  toward  the  big  stone  slab,  and  the  girl 
stepped  quickly  into  the  shadows  beside  us.  We 
surmised  that  it  was  one  of  the  sentinels  making  a 
round  of  the  village,  and  we  waited  patiently. 

The  soft  footfalls  came  from  the  edge  of  the 
clearing,  and  we  stopped  breathing.  Thoughts  of 
the  racket  which  the  bull-roarer  could  fling  into  the 
silent  night  welled  up  in  our  minds,  and  we  prayed 
that  the  invisible  watcher  would  come  close  enough 
to  give  us  a  chance  to  spring  upon  him  before  he 
had  an  opportunity  at  whirling  the  devilish  wooden 
noise-maker  around  his  head. 

But  it  was  not  the  watchman  who  was  approaching. 
Out  of  the  shadows  at  the  edge  of  the  open  space 
stepped  a  man  who  was  more  muscular  than  any 
man  we  had  ever  seen,  and  we  knew  immediately 
who  he  was.  We  had  formed  a  mental  picture  of 
one  man,  and  that  one  had  appeared  suddenly  before 
us.  The  bark-cloth  mask  that  covered  the  face 
that  could  not  be  looked  upon  by  his  followers  told 
us  that  the  prowler  on  the  clearing  was  no  other 
than  the  Spotted  Panther! 

Afterward  when  we  compared  notes  we  wondered 
if  the  faint  light  of  the  setting  moon  had  made  him 
appear  larger  than  he  really  was,  but  we  finally  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  biggest  man  we 
had  ever  seen.  And  he  was.  Standing  there  on  the 


io8  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

clearing  he  seemed  a  giant,  and  the  mask  that  fell 
down  over  his  bare  shoulders  and  breast  made  his 
figure  more  awe-inspiring.  Fully  six  feet  four  in 
height,  he  had  a  chest  that  made  us  gasp  as  we 
looked  at  him,  while  the  huge  muscles  of  the  legs 
and  arms  suggested  a  strength  that  made  all  our 
notions  of  thews  and  sinews  topple  to  the  ground. 
Red  Templeton  and  Morgan  were  men  much  stronger 
than  the  ordinary,  but  Red  and  Chico  were  small  in 
comparison  with  that  savage.  He  was  a  primitive 
brute,  and  we  had  no  need  to  wonder  why  the  Trings 
and  the  Modangs  mentioned  his  name  with  bated 
breath. 

For  fully  three  minutes  he  stood  looking  at  the 
stone  slab,  then  he  turned  and  walked  toward  the 
kampong,  leaving  us  amazed  at  his  tremendous  size. 

"Shades  of  Goliath!"  whispered  Templeton. 
"He's  the  biggest  brute  I  ever  saw!" 

"I'm  sorry  we  didn't  spring  on  him  while  we  had 
the  chance,"  said  Chico.  "He  gave  me  a  chill,  and 
I've  got  a  notion  that  he'll  make  our  little  job  a 
hard  one." 

Nao  led  us  through  a  clump  of  nipa-palm,  turned 
and  scaled  a  rather  steep  path  at  the  rear  of  the  cave, 
and  then,  crawling  cautiously  along  a  narrow  ledge 
of  rock,  she  stopped  in  front  of  one  of  the  blind  eyes 
in  the  face  of  the  cliff  and  whispered  to  Templeton. 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER  109 

"This  is  our  burrow,"  said  Red.  "By  the  whis 
kers  of  Mahomet!  this  little  girl  is  good  to  us!  She 
says  that  no  one  will  come  near  this  hole  because  it  is 
supposed  to  be  inhabited  by  an  aintu,  or  spirit,  and 
that  in  preparation  of  our  coming,  she  put  water 
and  rice  inside  the  place  this  afternoon." 

Chico  Morgan  took  the  girl's  little  hand  and 
carried  it  to  his  lips,  then  she  turned  quietly  and  ran 
along  the  ledge.  As  we  crawled  into  the  hole  in 
the  face  of  the  cliff  one  word  floated  back  to  us 
through  the  soft  night.  The  word  was  "Leesbon." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  POISONED  DART 

IF  NAO  had  not  informed  us  that  our  cave  was 
shunned  because  it  was  supposed  to  be  the 
abode  of  an  evil  spirit  we  might  have  wrongly 
attributed  its  desertion  to  the  odour  that  came  to 
our  nostrils  the  moment  we  were  inside  the  round 
opening. 

"Easy,"  whispered  Chico;  "we  might  upset  the 
water  or  step  on  the  dish  of  'paddy.'  I'm  certain 
that  she  must  have  pushed  them  through  the 
opening  without  venturing  inside.  If  she  had 
sniffed  this  stench  she  would  have  hunted  up  better 
quarters  for  us." 

"My!"  growled  Templeton.  "I'm  thinking  the 
spirit  must  have  committed  suicide.  Have  you 
found  the  rice?" 

"I've  got  the  water,"  said  Chico.  "It  is  in 
these  notches  of  bamboo  near  the  opening." 

I  found  the  "paddy"  wrapped  in  palm  leaves 
beside  the  bamboo  water  vessels,  and  after  we  had 
unloaded  the  small  packs  of  needful  things  which 

no 


THE  POISONED  DART  in 

we  had  carried  from  the  Place  of  Evil  Winds,  we 
started  to  explore  the  cave  in  an  endeavour  to 
discover  the  cause  of  the  vile  odour  which  nearly 
choked  us. 

On  hand, and  knees  we  crept  over  the  place  without 
making  a  discovery.  The  floor  was  smooth  and 
unbroken  except  for  a  small  hole  in  one  corner 
where  the  moisture  percolating  through  the  roof 
had  eaten  into  the  soft  limestone  of  the  floor. 

"Feel  the  sides  and  roof,"  ordered  Templeton. 
"P'raps  the  aintu  has  hanged  himself  from  the 
ceiling." 

It  was  impossible  to  stand  upright,  as  the  arched 
roof  was  not  more  than  five  feet  from  the  floor 
at  its  highest  elevation,  so  we  stumbled  around 
with  our  backs  bent  in  an  effort  to  locate  the  stench. 

"I  have  it,"  whispered  Morgan. 

"What  is  it?  "asked  Red. 

"Heads." 

"What?" 

"A  parcel  of  heads.  They're  tied  up  neatly 
with  rattan  and  strung  along  from  two  projec 
tions  of  rock." 

We  felt  our  way  back  to  the  spot  where  Chico 
was  standing,  and  very  cautiously  we  touched  the 
string  of  trophies.  .  There  were  nine,  all  dry  and 
withered  to  the  touch,  and  it  was  evident  that  some 


112  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

brave  warrior,  after  a  successful  headhunting  raid 
upon  the  Trings  and  Modangs,  had  endeavoured 
to  appease  the  evil  spirit  of  the  cave  by  presenting 
it  with  a  number  of  trophies. 

Chico  untied  the  ghastly  mementoes  and  carried 
them  to  the  opening  with  the  intention  of  firing 
them  out  into  the  night,  but  Templeton  stopped  him. 

"Don't  throw  them  out,"  he  said. 

"Why?"  asked  Morgan. 

"Because  they  will  be  picked  up,  and  that  might 
lead  to  a  search.  We're  taking  a  big  risk  in  camping 
in  this  place,  and  we  don't  want  to  increase  the 
danger." 

"But  where  are  we  to  put  them?"  queried  Chico. 

"Keep  them  here,"  snapped  Red.  "We're  too 
close  to  the  prize  to  take  a  risk." 

Morgan  put  the  string  of  skulls  in  the  farthest 
corner,  and  we  squatted  on  the  floor  near  the  round 
opening  and  wondered  how  the  Dyaks  could  endure 
the  odour  of  the  trophies  that  they  suspended  over 
their  fireplaces. 

"Two  of  us  had  better  sleep  while  one  stays  on 
guard,"  said  Templeton.  "You  two  take  a  nap 
while  I  watch." 

"I  can't  sleep  while  that  smell  is  around," 
grumbled  Chico.  "Say,  I  wonder  could  I  drop 
them  down  that  hole  in  the  corner?" 


THE  POISONED  DART  113 

"Where  does  it  lead?" 

"I  don't  know.  It's  just  a  hole  worn  by  the 
water  in  the  rock.  If  we  could  push  them  down 
there  I  could  stick  some  palm  leaves  on  top  of 
them." 

"Try,"  said  Red. 

Chico  pushed  the  trophies  into  the  hole  one 
after  the  other,  and  when  they  went  rolling  away 
we  felt  inclined  to  dance  with  joy.  Morgan  stuffed 
the  hole  with  some  of  the  palm  leaves  that  had  been 
wrapped  round  the  rice,  and  then  we  stretched  our 
selves  on  the  floor  while  Red  kept  guard  at  the 
opening. 

I  was  awakened  out  of  a  dream  in  which  I  thought 
I  was  watching  Buddha  swinging  that  big  parong 
around  his  head  so  quickly  that  only  a  circle  of 
flame  could  be  seen,  and  I  crawled  hurriedly  to 
the  opening  to  see  what  was  creating  the  uproar 
that  shattered  the  silence  of  the  dawn.  It  was  an 
infamous  noise.  Chico  and  Red  were  on  their 
knees  near  the  circular  openmg  listening  to  the 
racket,  and  I  put  a  question  with  my  mouth  close 
to  Templeton's  ear. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

Red  shouted  his  answer.  "The  bull-roarer,"  he 
cried.  "They've  discovered  that  old  Never-Blink 
is  off  his  post,  and  they're  sounding  an  alarm." 


ii4  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

It  is  possible  that  there  are  some  instruments 
that  will  produce  a  greater  volume  of  sound  than 
the  one  which  was  used  that  morning  in  the  village 
of  the  Spotted  Panther,  but  I'll  stake  my  life  that 
no  other  instrument  could  produce  such  a  devilish 
clatter.  That  noise  could  not  be  produced  by 
civilized  man,  It  was  the  poison  of  barbarism 
turned  into  sound.  The  war  drums  of  the  Aztecs, 
the  skin  pipes  of  the  Papuans,  and  every  other 
species  of  noise-making  instrument  was  completely 
outclassed  by  the  machine  used  in  the  Orang  Bukkit 
village  near  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh. 

"Shades  of  Washington!"  cried  Morgan.  "If 
he  had  sprung  that  thing  last  night  I  wouldn't 
have  been  able  to  run.  That  takes  the  strength 
out  of  my  limbs." 

That  was  how  Templeton  and  I  felt  about  that 
devilish  sound.  It  seemed  to  sap  the  strength 
from  our  legs  and  arms,  and  I  suppose  it  was  the 
aim  of  the  inventor  to  produce  a  noise  that  would 
have  that  power.  That  infernal  racket  seemed  to 
bore  into  our  brain  and  stir  all  the  terror  that  was 
associated  with  noise.  We  seemed  to  know  that 
our  ancestors  in  the  time  when  the  mammoth 
was  at  large  were  defeated  by  a  tribe  whose  drums 
produced  the  same  kind  of  weird  music.  That  is 
how  we  felt.  While  the  sound  of  that  thing  was 


THE  POISONED  DART  115 

buzzing  in  the  air  like  the  wings  of  ten  million  death 
beetles,  I  seemed  to  know  of  every  fight  that  my 
forefathers  had  participated  in,  at  least  I  knew  of 
the  losing  fights.  That  noise  was  associated  with 
defeat  —  defeat  for  those  who  listened  to  it. 

The  three  of  us  looked  at  each  other  as  the  noise 
continued.  There  was  an  undercurrent  of  sound 
that  we  knew  was  caused  by  the  village  rousing 
itself  to  find  out  the  cause  of  the  alarm,  but  the 
dull,  deafening  boom  seemed  to  smother  the  minor 
racket.  It  swelled  into  a  terrific  thunder,  the  air 
throbbing  with  the  clangour,  then  it  stopped  sud 
denly,  and  a  silence  that  had  all  the  horror  of  the 
noise  swept  over  the  long  houses  and  the  caves. 

"Gee!"  breathed  Morgan.  "I  never  heard  a 
noise  like  that  in  all  my  life,  and  I  never  knew  a 
silence  like  this,  either." 

The  sun  hadn't  risen  when  the  bull-roarer  stopped, 
and  the  silence  that  always  comes  with  a  tropical 
dawn  was  made  more  noticeable  when  the  racket 
ceased  so  suddenly.  We  couldn't  see  any  of  the 
natives  because  we  were  careful  not  to  thrust  our 
heads  out  of  the  hole,  but  we  had  a  curious  feeling 
that  the  whole  camp  had  jumped  into  the  morass. 
For  promoting  a  creepy  feeling  it  would  be  hard 
to  discover  a  more  effective  method  than  the  alter 
nate  intervals  of  appalling  noise  and  silence. 


n6  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"What  has  happened?"  muttered  Templeton. 
"They've  either  bolted  from  the  place  or  else  they've 
gone  to  sleep  again." 

"They  wouldn't  go  to  sleep  again  if  they've 
discovered  that  the  sentinel  has  left  his  beat," 
said  Chico.  "I  think  they  have  rushed  down  to 
the  channel  to  investigate  the  disappearance.  I 
wonder  if  Nao  is  with  them?" 

The  unbroken  silence  made  us  feel  certain  that 
the  whole  village  had  gone  down  to  the  side  of  the 
morass,  and  as  we  felt  safe  from  observation  for  the 
moment,  Templeton  thrust  his  head  warily  out 
of  the  hole  and  took  a  peep  at  the  landscape. 

"I  can't  see  a  soul,"  he  whispered.  "The  houses 
are  deserted,  and  there  —  Great  Scott!  here  comes 
the  Golden  One!" 

Red  drew  back  his  head,  grabbed  his  rifle  and 
peered  out  again. 

"She's  hurrying  around  by  the  cave,"  he  mut 
tered  hoarsely.  "I  can't  see  her  now!  Yes,  I  can! 
She's  coming  here,  and  she's  running  like  the  mis 
chief!" 

I  wished  that  I  was  far  away  from  the  kampong 
of  the  Spotted  Panther  at  that  moment.  The 
infamous  noise  made  by  the  bull-roarer,  the  silence 
which  immediately  followed  it,  and  the  information 
that  Nao  was  running  toward  our  hiding-place 


THE  POISONED  DART  117 

brought  a  feeling  of  dread  to  me  that  I  have  never 
experienced  at  any  other  moment.  That  was  an 
eerie  dawn.  I  tried  to  stiffen  my  spine  by  picturing 
the  Great  Sword,  but  my  teeth  chattered  in  spite 
of  all  my  efforts.  For  a  few  seconds  I  entertained 
a  profound  hate  for  the  millions  whose  love  for  the 
wonderful  weapon  had  made  us  so  rash  in  our 
efforts  to  possess  it. 

"Let  me  look  out!"  cried  Chico.  "The  beggars 
must  have  got  news  of  us,  and  she's  coming  to  warn 
us." 

I  don't  know  how  we  accomplished  it,  but  the 
three  of  us  managed  to  thrust  our  heads  into  the 
entrance  hole  when  the  Golden  One  ran  along  the 
narrow  ledge  and  gasped  a  few  words  to  Red  as 
she  dashed  past  like  a  beautiful  nymph  of  the  dawn. 
She  was  wise  enough  not  to  stop  for  an  instant  lest 
some  one  might  have  been  watching,  and  before 
Templeton  had  delivered  the  message  to  us  she  was 
down  the  other  side  of  the  cliff  and  out  of  sight. 

"What  is  wrong?"  I  cried.     "What  did  she  say?" 

"They're  after  us,"  said  Templeton.  "She  says 
they're  on  the  right  scent.  They've  got  a  hound 
—  a  human  hound,  she  says." 

"What?"  asked  Morgan. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  devil  she  means!  She 
said  a  man-hound." 


n8  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"That's  nice,"  remarked  Chico.  "We  had  better 
prepare  for  a  fight.  If  they've  got  a  human  blood 
hound  on  the  premises  he's  liable  to  locate  us." 

Morgan  never  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
word  fear.  He  took  a  handful  of  rice  and  munched 
it  contentedly  while  we  waited  for  something  to 
happen,  and  the  grinding  of  his  teeth  got  on  the  big 
Britisher's  nerves. 

"Stop  chewing!"  growled  Templeton.  "You're 
the  only  one  in  a  fifty  miles  radius  that's  making 
a  noise." 

"This  rice  is  good,"  said  Chico.  "Like 

Geewhillikins!  here  they  come!" 

Years  before  that  morning  I  had  read  a  story  that 
described  the  feelings  of  a  runaway  slave  who 
crouched  in  the  bushes  and  watched  the  bloodhounds 
sweep  down  upon  him,  and  that  story  came  into 
my  mind  as  Chico  Morgan  motioned  toward  the 
point  in  the  jungle  where  we  had  entered  the  clear 
ing  on  the  previous  evening.  There  was  a  blood 
hound  upon  our  track  at  that  moment,  but  as  the 
Golden  One  had  informed  us  in  her  hasty  message, 
it  was  a  human  bloodhound.  It  made  our  blood 
curdle  as  we  watched  the  head  of  the  procession. 
We  were  being  run  down  by  a  man,  who  ran  on  all 
fours,  and  whose  face  was  thrust  close  to  the  ground 
as  he  followed  our  track  unerringly! 


THE  POISONED  DART  119 

That  was  a  fear-inspiring  spectacle.  For  months 
afterward  I  dreamed  of  that  affair.  I  would  awaken 
in  the  night,  my  body  covered  with  the  cold  per 
spiration  of  terror,  my  brain  obsessed  with  the 
belief  that  I  was  again  a  fugitive  from  the  dwarfed 
and  doglike  creature  that  crawled  on  to  the  clearing 
at  the  head  of  the  Spotted  Panther's  warriors. 

"Good  God!"  muttered  Templeton.  "He's  fol 
lowing  every  step  we  took." 

Perhaps  there  was  nothing  so  remarkable  in  the 
work  which  that  twisted  savage  performed.  The 
Australian  aboriginal  can  run  for  miles  upon  a 
trail,  and  for  his  ability  as  a  tracker  is  hired  by  the 
government  to  assist  the  police  in  lawless  districts, 
but  the  aboriginal  does  not  exhibit  the  doglike 
characteristics  we  saw  displayed  by  the  half-crip 
pled  Kyan.  He  really  did  appear  to  be  following  our 
tracks  by  the  aid  of  his  nose  and  not  by  his  eyes. 
It  was  that  peculiarity  that  sickened  us.  It  made 
us  feel  qualmish  as  we  peered  down  upon  the 
packed  mass  that  followed  the  man-dog. 

The  ugly  cripple,  evidently  tired  from  his  efforts 
in  following  the  route  by  which  we  had  circled 
the  camp,  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  clearing  to 
rest  himself,  and  we  had  a  good  opportunity  of 
viewing  him  as  well  as  the  crowd  that  surged  behind. 
The  tracker  was  horribly  deformed,  his  face  was 


I2O  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

flat  and  beastlike,  while  his  twisted  arms  and  legs 
were  fearfully  emaciated.  While  resting  he  sat 
upon  his  haunches  like  a  wallaby,  and  he  whined 
in  a  manner  that  made  Chico  curse  him  softly. 

Close  beside  the  deformed  one  was  the  Spotted 
Panther,  his  face  and  neck  still  hidden  by  the  bark- 
cloth  mask,  and  next  to  the  Panther,  and  apparently 
second  in  command,  was  another  tremendous  savage. 
Though  not  as  tall  as  the  chief,  he  was  broader 
and  more  muscular,  and  as  they  stood  together  we 
thought  that  we  had  never  seen  two  brown  men 
who  were  their  equal  in  stature.  Behind  these  two 
were  packed  hundreds  of  naked  warriors,  all  armed 
with  parongs,  spears,  or  sumpitans,  the  latter  being 
the  deadly  blowpipe  which  the  Kyan  uses  with  such 
skill. 

The  sight  fascinated  us.  The  whining  savage 
on  his  haunches  was  a  deformed  Nemesis  on  our 
trail,  and  as  we  watched  him,  our  imagination 
scooped  the  climax  of  the  situation  out  of  the  future 
and  held  it  up  before  our  eyes.  The  brute  would 
lead  the  throng  up  the  path  by  which  we  had  reached 
the  cave,  and  if  we  did  manage  to  kill  a  few  score  of 
the  party,  our  fate  was  plain. 

Chico  Morgan  pushed  forward  the  barrel  of  the 
rifle  and  looked  hungrily  at  the  whining  cripple. 
But  there  was  no  salvation  in  shooting  the  brute 


THE  POISONED  DART  121 

where  he  sat.  Instead  of  delaying  the  onslaught 
it  would  bring  the  mob  upon  us  with  a  rush. 

The  dog-man  glanced  up  at  the  Panther,  and  the 
latter  gave  a  signal  to  continue  the  chase,  and  at 
that  moment  I  made  a  little  discovery.  It  was  a 
curious  discovery  to  make  at  that  moment.  As 
the  mob  swayed  forward,  the  big  hand  of  the  English 
man  was  thrust  into  the  bosom  of  his  khaki  shirt, 
and  as  it  was  withdrawn  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
face  of  the  girl  upon  the  little  locket  that  he  held 
for  a  second  to  the  light.  It  was  the  face  of  Evelyn 
Courtney,  the  beautiful  sister  of  the  opium  smoker 
whose  rescue  from  the  opium  den  had  been  the 
means  of  bringing  Templeton  and  Morgan  together. 

The  cripple,  moving  very  slowly  and  still  whining 
dreadfully,  crept  across  the  clearing  on  the  path  we 
had  taken  in  approaching  the  great  slab  of  stone. 
Here  he  stopped  and  sniffed  for  quite  a  time, 
looking  up  at  the  Panther  at  occasional  inter 
vals  as  if  he  wished  to  show  that  person  that  we 
had  consumed  some  time  upon  the  spot  he  then  oc 
cupied. 

"It  looks  as  if  he  had  been  watching  us,"  whis 
pered  Chico.  "If  the  brute  was  prowling  round 
last  night  it  will  be  all  up  with  the  Golden  One 
after  they  finish  with  us.  Don't  let  that  thing 
escape  when  they  rush  on  us.  Do  you  hear?  If 


122  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

we  finish  him  we  might  save  Nao  from  the  vengeance 
of  the  devils!" 

Templeton  and  I  nodded  to  signify  that  we  had 
the  same  anxiety  to  cut  short  the  career  of  the  cripple 
the  moment  we  felt  certain  that  he  had  located 
our  hiding-place,  and  then  we  held  our  breath  and 
watched  the  performance.  We  had  no  doubt 
about  the  deformed  one's  knowledge.  Whether  he 
had  watched  us  from  the  trees,  or  whether  he  was 
possessed  of  some  doglike  instinct  that  enabled  him 
to  trace  us,  we  couldn't  tell,  but  his  trailing  was 
accurate. 

"We're  up  against  it,"  muttered  Red.  "Pick 
off  the  leaders  when  they're  coming  up  the  hill. 
If  we  scare  them  off,  we  might  have  a  chance." 

The  whining  cripple  was  dragging  himself  along 
the  path  by  which  Nao  had  led  us  when  Morgan 
asked  to  see  the  crevice  that  had  given  Gung  an 
opportunity  to  secure  the  Chalice  of  Everlasting 
Fire,  and  we  gave  up  the  hope  we  cherished  that 
he  would  lose  our  trail.  In  another  minute  he 
would  be  hidden  from  view  by  the  clump  of  screw- 
palm,  and  we  knew  that  we  would  not  see  him  again 
till  he  led  the  naked  mob  up  the  slope  immediately 
in  front  of  our  cave.  The  fact  that  the  wicked 
spirits  had  laid  a  claim  upon  our  hiding-place  would 
not  save  us  when  the  deformed  savage  pointed  it 


THE  POISONED  DART  123 

out  as  the  spot  where  the  assailants  of  old  Never- 
Blink  were  hidden. 

"It's  all  up,"  growled  Chico. 

"I  guess  it  is,"  assented  Templeton.  "If  the 
brute Hello!  what's  happened?" 

Morgan  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  hole  as  the 
cripple  reeled  and  fell,  but  Templeton  grabbed 
Chico  by  the  shoulders  and  pulled  him  back. 

"Don't  show  yourself!"  cried  Red.  "We've 
got  a  chance!" 

"What  hit  him?"  gasped  Chico. 

"A  poisoned  dart,"  answered  Templeton.  "Some 
one  hiding  in  the  bushes  has  picked  him  off  with 
a  sumpitan.  Don't  put  your  head  out,  you  fool! 
Keep  quiet!  There's  a  hope  that  the  bloodhound 
has  been  put  out  of  business." 


CHAPTER  X 

WE  SEE  THE  MOON  OF  BLOOD 

IN  THE  minutes  that  passed  after  the  de 
formed  savage  had  received  the  poisoned 
dart  we  sat  wedged  together  near  the  mouth 
of  the  cave.  We  couldn't  speak.  A  knowledge 
that  came  to  the  three  of  us  at  the  same  mo 
ment  made  our  throats  dry  and  our  tongues  refused 
to  form  the  words  we  wished  to  utter.  From 
out  of  the  creeper  growth  that  hemmed  in  the 
clearing  a  dart  of  death  had  gone  swiftly  and  silently 
to  the  creature  that  was  bringing  a  thousand  armed 
men  to  our  hiding-place,  and  we  had  no  desire  to 
question  each  other  concerning  the  identity  of  the 
person  who  had  used  the  deadly  sumpitan.  The 
words  "Nos  somos  amigos,"  which  Nao  had  uttered 
at  the  little  moss-grown  cross  in  the  jungle,  had 
not  been  lightly  said.  We  understood  at  that 
moment  that  the  Golden  One,  half  delirious  with 
the  dreams  which  our  coming  had  brought  into  her 
mind,  had  no  hesitation  in  proving  her  friendship 
when  the  moment  had  arrived. 

124 


WE  SEE  THE  MOON  OF  BLOOD  125 

The  happening  threw  the  mob  into  a  momentary 
panic.  Their  nerves  were  keyed  up  by  the  pos 
sibility  of  coming  face  to  face  with  the  persons  who 
had  caused  the  disappearance  of  the  sentinel,  and 
the  manner  in  which  the  guide  had  been  stricken 
nearly  produced  a  stampede. 

The  Spotted  Panther  screamed  out  orders  when 
he  understood  what  had  happened  to  his  tracker, 
and  the  warriors  sprang  for  the  surrounding  trees. 
The  mysterious  shot  suggested  a  Tring  ambuscade, 
and  with  loud  yells  the  mob  rushed  the  encircling 
undergrowth. 

The  movement  brought  Chico  to  his  feet.  With 
a  muttered  curse  he  grabbed  his  rifle  and  made  an 
effort  to  get  out  of  the  cave,  but  Templeton's 
big  hands  seized  him  before  he  had  his  shoulders 
through  the  opening. 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  cried  the  Englishman.  "Sit 
quiet,  you  madman!" 

"But  they'll  get  her!"  gasped  Chico.  "She 
must  be  in  the  bushes!" 

"Do  you  think  she'll  wait  for  them?"  growled  Red. 
"She  got  away  while  the  fools  were  wondering 
where  the  dart  came  from!  Do  you  want  to  spoil 
her  work?" 

Chico  grumbled  as  he  flung  himself  flat  upon 
the  floor  and  drew  a  bead  on  the  Spotted  Panther, 


126  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

who  was  shouting  in  the  middle  of  the  clearing. 
Templeton's  logic  appealed  to  Morgan,  but  he  was 
determined  to  have  a  speedy  revenge  if  the  retreat 
of  the  user  of  the  deadly  blowpipe  had  been  cut  off. 

The  crippled  tracker  was  lying  upon  his  face  while 
another  savage  was  busily  engaged  plastering  the 
wound  with  blue  mud.  But  it  appeared  as  if 
the  crude  skill  of  the  medicine  man  was  of  little 
avail.  The  whining  of  the  wounded  man  grew 
weaker  and  weaker,  and  when  it  ceased  altogether 
the  blue-mud  practitioner  turned  his  patient  upon 
his  back  and  made  a  grimace  that  spoke  volumes. 

"He's  done  his  last  bit  of  tracking,"  whispered 
Templeton. 

"And  the  brown  devils  haven't  located  any  one," 
grinned  Chico.  "Gee!  what  a  row!" 

The  warriors  were  trooping  back  on  to  the  clear 
ing,  their  gestures  plainly  indicating  that  they  had 
discovered  nothing  that  would  explain  the  matter, 
and  the  noise  increased  as  the  surprise  caused 
by  the  mysterious  shot  passed  away.  A  thou 
sand  tongues  gave  vent  to  a  thousand  different 
opinions,  while  the  Panther  and  his  big  lieutenant 
cried  orders.  Single  messengers  were  sent  run 
ning  in  different  directions,  then,  as  if  a  signal 
had  been  received  by  some  invisible  means,  the 
Panther  turned  into  the  jungle,  and  his  thousand 


WE  SEE  THE  MOON  OF  BLOOD  127 

followers,  hushed  into  silence,  followed  upon  his 
heels. 

With  noiseless  feet  they  filed  away  toward  the 
west,  and  we  watched  them  in  surprise.  In  five 
minutes  the  clearing  was  deserted,  even  the  mud 
doctor  bolting  hurriedly  from  the  body  of  the  cripple 
that  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  grassy  place. 

"What  happened  to  them?"  asked  Red. 

"Search  me,"  said  Chico.  "They've  taken  a 
notion  to  go  somewhere  in  a  hurry." 

The  sun  crept  over  the  belt  of  sandalwood,  teak, 
and  kaladang  trees,  and  in  the  intense  quiet  of  the 
tropic  morning  we  watched  and  waited  for  the 
return  of  the  brigade.  Our  own  position  was  not 
a  comfortable  one  during  that  long  wait.  The  heat 
in  the  little  cave  was  intense,  and  our  nearness 
to  the  treasure  maddened  us  as  we  thought  over  a 
thousand  insane  ways  of  moving  the  great  slab  of 
stone  from  the  entrance.  Once  or  twice  during 
the  long  hours  of  the  morning  Templeton  had  a 
task  to  restrain  Chico  from  slipping  down  the  bank 
and  attacking  the  slab  with  the  limb  of  a  tree  as 
the  lever. 

"We  might  lever  it  back  so  that  one  of  us  could 
crawl  behind  it,"  grumbled  Chico.  "It's  enough 
to  drive  a  man  crazy  to  sit  here  and  look  at  it." 

"That's  all  we  can  do  for  the  present,"  counselled 


128  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Red.  "We've  had  a  lump  of  luck  to  start  the  day 
with,  and  we  don't  want  to  run  a  risk  for  nothing." 

"But  I  seem  to  see  the  thing  through  the  rock," 
muttered  Chico.  "I  feel  it,  too!  Don't  you  fellows 
feel  it?" 

We  nodded  our  heads  as  we  stared  down  at  the 
big  slab  that  barred  our  way  to  power  and  fortune. 
We  felt  the  nearness  of  that  Sword  in  a  way  that 
I  cannot  explain.  We  might  not  have  had  that 
peculiar  feeling  in  any  other  atmosphere,  and  it  is 
hard  to  describe  it  to  a  person  who  does  not  know 
the  Orient.  But  we  felt  that  the  Great  Parong  of 
Buddha  knew  that  we  were  near.  The  heat  and 
the  silence  might  have  affected  us  that  morning 
so  that  we  were  peculiarly  susceptible  to  outside 
influence,  while  the  incident  of  the  dog-man  left 
our  nerves  as  taut  as  an  E  string.  And  the  strange 
scents  in  the  air  made  us  feel  as  if  we  were  as  old  as 
the  shrivelled  claw  in  the  Durga  Kund.  As  we 
lay  in  that  little  cave  and  soaked  in  the  odours 
that  came  to  us  from  the  jungle  and  the  mudbanks, 
we  shouldn't  have  shown  any  surprise  if  we  had 
seen  a  full-grown  mastodon  or  iron-scaled  glyptodon 
go  strolling  across  the  landscape.  We  felt  that  we 
belonged  to  the  age  of  the  mammoth  and  the  hairy 
auroch,  and  the  Winchester  that  Morgan  held 
in  his  hand  seemed  altogether  out  of  place.  I'll 


WE  SEE  THE  MOON  OF  BLOOD  129 

wager  that  we  could  have  handled  a  spear  or  a 
razor-edged  parong  as  well  as  any  Malay  that 
morning. 

"The  smell  of  that  infernal  morass  makes  me 
feel  like  a  wild  man,"  muttered  Templeton.  "If 
I  were  in  this  country  for  three  months  I'd  be  wear 
ing  a  loin  cloth  and  eating  yams  and  paddy  like 
a  full-blooded  Kyan." 

"Same  here,"  said  Chico.  "If  we  wait  in  this 
cave  for  three  days  there'll  only  be  a  scrap  of  tissue 
paper  between  me  and  a  headhunter." 

Noon  brought  a  little  break  in  the  monotony. 
Two  very  old  savages  came  from  the  community 
houses  and  dragged  the  body  of  the  dead  tracker 
in  the  direction  of  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh,  and  ten 
minutes  after  they  had  disappeared  Nao  walked 
slowly  across  the  clearing,  turned  when  she  reached 
the  jungle,  and  then  walked  back  again  toward 
the  village.  Not  once  during  the  promenade  did 
she  look  in  the  direction  of  our  hiding-place,  but 
we  understood  the  motive  that  prompted  her  to 
take  the  stroll.  Her  intuition  told  her  that  we  would 
be  alarmed  over  her  safety,  yet  she  could  ,not  muster 
up  enough  courage  to  walk  through  the  clearing 
while  the  body  of  the  deformed  savage  was  lying 
there. 

We  watched  her  without  speaking  as  she  walked 


130  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

slowly  by,  and  if  we  had  thought  her  a  wonder 
woman  on  the  day  she  approached  the  cross,  we 
were  a  thousand  times  more  convinced  of  her 
beauty  at  that  moment.  Helen  might  have  looked 
like  that  when  she  walked  upon  the  ramparts  of 
Troy  and  watched  the  armed  warriors  on  the  plain, 
and  the  wood  nymphs  that  played  upon  the  slopes 
of  Hymettus  never  stepped  more  daintily  than  the 
Golden  One  as  she  moved  beneath  our  hiding- 
place. 

"Gee!  she's  something  good  to  look  at,"  muttered 
Chico,  after  she  disappeared.  "Her  little  feet 
didn't  seem  to  touch  the  grass." 

Templeton  smiled.  "It  must  have  been  our 
big  feet  that  left  the  tracks  for  the  whining 
brute,"  he  said.  "We  should  practise  that  float 
ing  movement  before  we  try  to  get  back  over  the 
morass/' 

Morgan  didn't  answer,  and  once  again  the  silence 
that  seemed  to  be  intensified  by  the  heat  and  the 
odours  of  black  mud  and  decaying  leaves  closed 
in  upon  the  place.  We  lay  for  hours  without  speak 
ing,  our  eyes  fixed  upon  the  big  stone  slab  that 
held  us  fascinated.  And  we  dreamed  a  thousand 
dreams  during  that  hot  afternoon.  Once  Temple- 
ton  forgot  himself  in  thinking  of  that  sword,  and 
chanted  aloud  a  verse  which  Gung,  the  Hindu, 


WE  SEE  THE  MOON  OF  BLOOD  131' 

had  asserted  was  inlaid  in  gold  upon  the  blade  of 
the  weapon.     Gung's  translation  ran: 

"I,  who  have  parted  the  planets, 
I,  who  have  laid  down  the  Law, 
Bounded  the  seas  and  the  oceans, 
Counted  the  sands  on  each  shore, 
Hurled  up  the  mountains  that  whisper 
A  litany  sweet  to  the  sun, 
Here  tell  to  my  faithful  the  watchword 
By  which  all  my  wonders  are  done. 
Ocean,  and  sea,  and  swift  river, 
Mountain,  volcano,  and  hill, 
Slow-circling  planets  and  star  dust — 
With  Faith  I  can  build  them  at  will." 

And  we  were  not  surprised  at  hearing  Templeton 
chanting  that  verse.  Even  when  he  raised  his 
voice  a  little  louder  than  what  we  thought  was  safe 
under  the  circumstances,  we  did  not  protest.  We 
wanted  him  to  chant  it  in  a  loud  tone.  Chico  and 
I  wanted  him  to.  We  were  so  affected  by  the 
jungle,  and  the  odours,  and  our  nearness  to  the 
Great  Parong  that  we  thought  that  the  big  Sword 
might  understand  that  we  had  come  to  take  it 
out  of  that  place.  Now  that  I  have  written  this 
down  it  seems  as  if  I  have  given  the  reader  grounds 
to  doubt  our  sanity  at  that  particular  time,  but 
we  were  not  insane.  Our  minds  were  flooded  with 
a  million  thoughts  that  came  from  out  the  backs 


132  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

of  our  brains,  and  we  thrilled  with  the  knowledge 
that  Gung's  stories  had  unloosed  within  our  own 
minds.  It  was  extraordinary. 

Chico  Morgan  looked  at  Templeton  searchingly, 
then  he  looked  at  me.  "It  is  five  feet  three  inches 
in  length,"  he  said  quietly. 

"And  inlaid  with  gold  on  both  sides  of  the  blade," 
I  said. 

"And  the  hilt  is  a  twisted  cobra  in  gold  holding 
the  big  emerald  handle  in  its  mouth,"  murmured 
Templeton.  Then,  after  a  slight  pause,  he  added: 
"And  it  would  take  a  strong  man  to  swing  it  with 
his  two  hands." 

Chico  peered  out  upon  the  clearing,  where  the 
shadows  of  the  sandalwood  and  teak  trees  stole 
across  the  grass  toward  the  big  stone  slab  as  if 
curious  to  know  what  was  concealed  within  the 
cave,  then  he  turned  suddenly  upon  Templeton 
and  me. 

"Who  told  us  about  the  size  and  look  of  the 
Sword?"  he  asked. 

"Did  Gung  tell  us?"  queried  Templeton,  look 
ing  at  me. 

"No,"  I  answered.  "He  told  us  of  its  history 
and  the  verse  you  chanted,  but  he  didn't  know  the 
size  of  it.  He  only  knew  that  the  handle  was  a  big 
emerald." 


WE  SEE  THE  MOON  OF  BLOOD  133 

"We  must  have  dreamed  about  the  other  things," 
said  Red,  speaking  slowly,  "although  I'm  sure 
that  the  hilt  is  a  knotted  cobra  in  gold  that  is 
twined  like  the  figure  eight." 

"And  I'm  certain  about  its  length,"  muttered  Chico. 
"I'll  swear  it  is  five  feet  three  inches  in  length." 

No  one  spoke  after  that.  We  just  lay  there 
watching  the  shadows  close  in  and  wondering  about 
the  thoughts  that  filled  our  brains. 

The  sun  slipped  hurriedly  down  through  a  sky 
that  looked  as  if  it  were  a  testing  cloth  for  Hamud 
Way,  the  Magic  Dyer  of  Samarkhand,  and  then 
the  swift  tropical  night  wiped  the  colours  out  with 
a  brush  of  darkness. 

"I  guess  they'll  come  back  by  the  morass," 
whispered  Templeton.  "They  came  that  way  last 
evening." 

"They  might  have  come  back  hours  ago!" 
said  Chico.  "For  all  we  know  the  devils  might 
have  hidden  themselves  in  the  jungle  at  the  other 
side  of  the  clearing.  I  believe  they  are  there. 
Perhaps  that  is  why  Nao  would  not  look  in  our 
direction  as  she  walked  by." 

We  strained  our  ears  to  catch  the  noises  of  the 
night  as  we  waited.  We  felt  certain  that  Nao  would 
bring  a  message  to  us  under  cover  of  the  darkness, 
and  we  listened  for  the  slightest  sound. 


134  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Perhaps  it  was  our  eagerness  to  hear  the  sound 
of  Nao's  little  feet  upon  the  slope  that  made  us 
blind  to  other  things.  It  was  the  bull-roarer  that 
awakened  us.  That  infernal  noise-making  instru 
ment  again  shattered  the  silence  and  we  listened 
with  the  peculiar  feeling  of  dread  which  had  come 
to  us  that  morning. 

"What  is  up  now?"  questioned  Red. 

"P'raps  they're  bringing  out  another  blood 
hound,"  answered  Chico.  "If  they  do" Look! 

Look!" 

It  was  strange  that  we  didn't  notice  anything 
till  Morgan  gave  the  cry  of  wonder.  It  is  more 
than  strange.  We  were  so  busy  listening  that  we 
had  no  use  for  our  eyes,  and  the  wonder  of  wonders 
was  happening  for  us  at  that  moment.  As  Chico 
uttered  the  cry  we  jerked  our  heads  forward  and 
looked.  Looked  is  an  empty  word  to  express  what 
we  did!  We  thrust  our  heads  out  toward  the  south 
and  stared  and  stared  and  stared!  We  made 
gurgling  sounds.  We  became  drunk  with  a  wild 
joy  that  surged  up  within  us.  Rising  over  the 
trees,  the  rim  showing  above  the  league-wide 
stretch  of  jungle  like  the  red  eye  of  a  dream  ogre, 
was  the  moon.  A  red  moon!  The  vapours  rising 
from  the  jungle  seemed  to  wrap  it  till  its  face  ap 
peared  to  be  covered  with  a  piece  of  purple  chiffon, 


WE  SEE  THE  MOON  OF  BLOOD  135 

and  as  the  bull-roarer  set  the  air  vibrating  we  gave 
a  joint  cry  of  joy. 

"The  Moon  of  Blood!"  we  repeated  over  and 
over  again.  "The  Moon  of  Blood!  The  Moon  of 
Blood!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  GREAT  PARONG 

WE  COULD  well  imagine  how  that  con 
stantly  recurring  phenomenon  startled 
the  savages.  That  the  moon  which 
ordinarily  rose  with  a  face  as  white  as  the  chalk 
cliffs  of  Said  should  change  that  face  to  one  of 
crimson  suggested  to  the  minds  of  the  Panther's 
followers  that  something  was  amiss.  They  did  not 
realize  how  the  enveloping  haze  which  rose  from 
the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  veiled  the  moon  while 
it  hung  low  upon  the  horizon.  The  red  orb  sug 
gested  anger,  and  they  had  looked  around  for 
some  means  of  appeasing  that  anger.  The  gen 
ius  of  the  place  had  evidently  suggested  that 
the  Great  Parong  of  Buddha  be  shown  to  the 
angry  goddess  of  the  night,  and  a  tribal  cere 
mony  was  immediately  introduced.  The  moon 
had  become  white  as  it  rose  above  the  haze,  and 
the  genius  who  suggested  the  bringing  forth  of  the 
big  blade  received  the  plaudits  of  the  mob.  In  all 
probability  he  was  appointed  bearer  of  the  sword 

136 


THE  GREAT  PARONG  137 

with  special  perquisites  in  the  way  of  boar  fat  and 
tender  yams. 

The  bull-roarer  flung  out  waves  of  sound  that 
one  pictured  as  projectiles  of  concentrated  noise 
flying  out  over  the  grenadierlike  trees.  The  cliff 
seemed  to  tremble  with  the  infernal  uproar.  It 
rolled  over  us  in  a  deafening  volume,  and  to  add 
to  the  clamour,  the  savages  made  a  booming  noise 
with  their  mouths  as  they  rushed  toward  the  treas 
ure  cave. 

Chico  tightened  his  belt  and  gripped  his  rifle. 
The  moment  that  we  had  dreamed  of  was  at  hand. 
Our  hearts  pounded  madly  with  excitement,  and 
I  know  that  the  blood  surged  through  my  head  in 
a  way  that  made  me  think  that  I  should  be  the 
victim  of  an  apoplectic  seizure  if  the  bull-roarer 
did  not  cease. 

"What  will  be  our  plans?"  cried  Morgan.  "Is 
there  anything  special  to  do?" 

"We  must  trust  to  our  luck,"  answered  Tem- 
pleton.  "We  don't  know  what  opportunity  will 
turn  up.  Do  nothing  foolish,  and  stick  together." 

The  clearing  was  black  with  screaming,  fighting 
men  at  that  moment.  The  place  was  still  in  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  and  we  blessed  the  fact  as  we 
crawled  through  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  wriggled 
like  rock  snakes  along  the  ledge.  No  adventure 


138  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

that  was  ever  written  of  was  like  that  adventure. 
We  were  certain  of  that  as  we  wormed  our  way 
forward.  And  we  were  as  old  as  the  jungle!  All 
the  tricks  of  the  cave  men  came  to  us  as  we  went 
slowly  down  the  slope,  and  I  know  that  my  own 
fingers  longed  for  the  feel  of  a  flint  axe  that  could 
drive  its  way  "through  brawn  and  brain,"  and  for 
which  I  would  have  gladly  exchanged  the  revolver 
I  clutched  tightly. 

A  man  can  shed  the  husk  of  civilization  in  a  mo 
ment.  Templeton,  Morgan,  and  I  flung  off  the 
veneer  that  evening.  It  was  a  miracle.  I  know 
that  we  were  one  with  our  ancestors  of  the  Paleozoic 
Age,  and  our  fighting  rules  were  the  same  as  those 
whose  bones  turn  up  in  the  Cambrian  Beds.  We, 
too,  could  have  fought  over  the  gristle  of  the  mam 
moth  or  howled  a  challenge  into  the  night  wind. 
The  change  terrified  us  in  a  way,  and  yet  it  thrilled 
us.  We  were  as  primitive  as  the  naked  savages 
whose  wild  cries  came  up  to  us  on  the  strange  little 
puffs  of  air  that  came  from  the  jungle. 

Chico  led  the  way,  Templeton  followed,  and  I 
brought  up  the  rear.  And  Chico  moved  swiftly. 
Down  below  us  came  the  grunting  of  fivescore 
men  struggling  with  the  tremendous  slab  of  stone. 
There  was  the  noise  of  crunching  rock,  and  above 
all  the  hoarse  shouts  of  the  Spotted  Panther. 


THE  GREAT  PARONG  139 

Chico  stopped  for  a  moment,  but  Red  urged  him 
forward.  The  Englishman  was  a  madman  just  then. 

"Go  on!"  he  whispered.  "Don't  stop!  Keep 
moving!" 

We  crept  past  the  creeper  masses  and  the  clumps 
of  screw-palm,  and  the  desire  to  possess  the  Sword 
became  an  agony  to  us.  Our  souls  cried  out  for 
it,  and  our  hands  clutched  convulsively  at  the 
darkness  where  our  crazy  imaginations  flung  up 
pictures  of  the  thing.  . 

A  yell  went  up  from  the  mob  at  the  door  of  the 
cavern,  and  we  knew  that  the  big  slab  had  been 
pulled  aside.  We  pictured  that  crowd  swarming 
into  the  cave  to  lay  their  hands  upon  the  Great 
Sword  of  Buddha. 

"Go   on!"  snarled  Templeton.     "Don't  stop!" 

We  had  passed  the  crevice  in  the  cave  wall  then, 
and  the  dark  flank  of  the  struggling  natives  was 
only  a  few  yards  away. 

"Wait  a  moment!"  whispered  Chico.  "You'll 
be  torn  to  pieces  if  you  rush  them!" 

We  halted,  panting  and  perspiring,  and  the  mob 
in  front  struggled  like  beasts.  At  last,  over  the 
yells  and  screams,  came  the  roar  of  the  Panther, 
and  looking  with  eyes  that  had  cat's  vision  through 
the  very  intensity  of  our  longing  to  see,  we  had 
our  first  glimpse  of  the  Sword. 


140  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

The  Panther  carried  it.  High  up  over  the  black 
mass  of  bodies  its  big  blade  licked  at  a  moonbeam 
that  came  through  the  trees  to  meet  it,  and  we 
wept  with  joy  and  longing  and  hope  fulfilled. 
Templeton  went  insane  for  the  moment.  He 
started  to  chant  the  verse  that  Gung  said  was 
engraved  upon  the  blade. 

"That's  it!"  he  gurgled.  "That's  it!"  Then  he 
chanted : 

"  I,  who  have  parted  the  planets, 
I,  who  have  laid  down  the  law, 
Bounded  the " 

"Shut  up!"  growled  Chico.  "Shut  up,  you  fool!" 
The  blade  glinted  in  the  moonbeams  as  the 
Panther  moved  out  into  the  clearing,  and  we  seemed 
to  be  sucked  forward  by  the  surge  of  the  mob,  who 
were  blind  to  our  presence.  They  had  eyes  only 
for  the  Great  Sword,  and  we  might  have  crawled 
under  their  feet  without  being  noticed  at  that  mo 
ment.  As  the  Panther  lifted  it  high  above  his  head, 
each  man  in  the  mob  flung  his  right  arm  into  the 
air,  and  made  a  noise  with  his  mouth  similar  to 
the  marching  tune  of  the  Aisawan  dancers,  and  we 
found  it  difficult  to  keep  on  our  stomaches  when 
that  sound  came  to  our  ears.  We  wanted  to  get 
up  and  follow  the  Panther  —  follow  him  round 


THE  GREAT  PARONG  141 

the  clearing  with  our  right  arms  raised  and  our 
eyes  on  the  sword! 

There  was  magic  in  the  night.  It  sent  us  reeling 
down  the  centuries,  stripped  of  the  veneer  which 
civilization  had  applied  to  us.  The  jungle  is  an 
uncanny  place  when  it  reaches  out  its  feelers,  and 
we  recognized  that  night  that  man  had  done  a  lot 
to  drag  himself  up  from  the  brute  level  when  he  had 
cleared  the  land  on  which  he  dwelt  in  an  endeavour 
to  fight  himself  free  of  the  thraldom  of  jungle 
growth. 

Chico  got  to  his  feet  with  the  intention  of  joining 
in  that  barbaric  procession,  but  Templeton  seized 
him  by  the  ankle  and  jerked  him  down  again. 
The  Britisher  had  seen  the  danger  of  the  surround 
ings,  and  he  had  taken  a  grip  of  himself.  He  guessed 
that  the  curious  marching  music,  the  sight  of  the 
Sword,  and,  above  all,  the  mystery  in  the  night 
would  ruin  our  chances  if  we  were  not  careful, 
and  he  damned  Morgan  and  me  till  we  worked 
some  of  the  poison  out  of  our  systems  beneath  his 
shower  of  abuse. 

"Don't  let  the  thing  get  a  grip  on  you!"  he 
growled.  "There's  madness  here!  You're  breath 
ing  it  with  every  breath!  Sit  quiet  a  moment, 
and  we  might  get  -a  chance  at  it  when  they  are 
putting  it  back." 


142  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

The  Spotted  Panther,  in  the  centre  of  the  strug 
gling  mob,  was  halfway  across  the  clearing,  and 
we  wriggled  closer  to  the  door  of  the  cave.  The 
bull-roarer  was  still  sounding  in  the  village,  and 
the  night  seemed  full  of  deviltry.  Every  time 
that  we,  in  an  effort  to  keep  a  clutch  upon  our 
sanity,  tried  to  send  our  thoughts  across  the  ocean 
to  the  bright  lights  and  the  clean  people  at  home, 
we  were  jerked  back  to  the  jungle  by  the  clamour 
and  the  odours.  We  couldn't  escape  the  place. 
We  became  convinced  that  the  only  living  persons 
in  the  world  were  those  savages  on  the  shores  of 
the  Million  Mouths  of  Boorsh,  and  the  three  of  us 
that  were  risking  our  lives  —  ay,  and  our  souls  —  in 
an  endeavour  to  possess  the  wonderful  sword. 

"What  will  we  do  now?"  cried  Chico.  "Here's 
the  door  of  the  cave." 

"Wait!"  gasped  Templeton.  "Wait  and  see 
what  the  demons  will  do." 

The  moon  was  fighting  herself  free  of  the  purple 
mist,  and  the  headhunters  screamed  louder  when 
they  saw  that  their  ceremony  was  bringing  forth 
results.  The  clearing  became  a  horrible  nightmare, 
and  we  were  engulfed  in  the  wave  of  madness. 

"There's  some  one  crawling  toward  us,"  whispered 
Chico.  "  Look  out !  There  to  the  left ! " 

Red  rose  to  his  knees  and  gripped  his  rifle  by 


THE  GREAT  PARONG  143 

the  barrel.  It  was  no  time  for  shooting.  One 
shot  would  bring  the  charging  hundreds  down  upon 
us,  and  we  would  be  reduced  to  a  jelly. 

The  approaching  person  stopped,  then,  as  we 
held  our  breath  and  waited  for  the  yell  that  would 
bring  the  mob  upon  us,  a  whisper  came  through 
the  shadows. 

"Leesbon!" 

"By  the  Robe  of  Siva!  It's  the  Golden  One!" 
muttered  Red. 

Nao  wriggled  closer  and  started  to  whisper 
excitedly  to  Templeton.  Chico  and  I  guessed  what 
her  message  was  about.  She  was  protesting  against 
our  foolhardiness  in  venturing  so  close  to  the  cave, 
and  she  was  urging  Red  to  retreat  as  fast  as  pos 
sible.  The  Panther  had  turned  at  the  end  of  the 
clearing,  and  there  was  not  much  time  to  waste 
just  then. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Chico. 

"She  wants  us  to  go  back,"  answered  Red. 

"Tell  her  we  can't,"  said  Morgan.  "Thank  her, 
Templeton,  thank  her  for  what  she  has  done  for  us. 
Tell  her  I  said  she's  a  splendid  woman.  Tell  her, 
man!" 

Templeton  translated  Morgan's  message  as  the 
procession  was  coming  across  the  clearing  toward 
us,  but  in  spite  of  the  nearness  of  the  danger  we 


144  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

turned  our  eyes  upon  Nao  at  that  moment.  She 
crawled  toward  Chico,  who  was  close  to  the  door 
of  the  cave,  took  his  big  hand,  kissed  it  quickly, 
then  turned  and  slipped  away  like  a  shadow. 

"She's  —  she's  pure  metal,"  stammered  Morgan. 
Then  turning  fiercely  upon  Templeton  and  me, 
he  said:  "Don't  forget!  If  either  one  of  you  two 
get  out  of  this  rumpus  alive  you  must  take  her 
back  with  you  to  civilization.  If  you  don't,  I'll 
haunt  you!" 

The  bull-roarer  nearly  deafened  us  at  that  mo 
ment.  The  noise  was  infamous.  We  struggled  in 
a  sea  of  sound  that  throttled  thought.  And  the 
procession  was  sweeping  across  the  shadow-flecked 
clearing. 

It  was  curious  that  we  could  think  of  no  definite 
plan  at  that  moment.  Our  brains  were  incapable 
of  thought.  We  knew  that  our  position  near  the 
mouth  of  the  cave  was  one  of  imminent  danger,  but 
the  longing  to  see  the  sword  and  the  desire  to  take 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  afforded  us  by  the 
removal  of  the  stone  slab  made  it  impossible  for 
us  to  tear  ourselves  away  from  the  spot.  We 
crouched  in  the  shadows,  yet  we  knew  that  the 
spot  where  we  tried  to  hide  ourselves  would  soon 
be  covered  with  the  shrieking  mob.  Our  stupidity 
was  amazing  at  that  moment.  The  desire  to  possess 


THE  GREAT  PARONG  145 

the  Sword  seemed  to  blind  us  to  the  dangers  around 
us. 

It  was  Chico  who  recovered  himself  in  time  to 
realize  our  peril.  The  bull-roarer  was  silent  for  a 
single  minute,  and  in  that  minute  Morgan  shook 
himself  free  from  the  spell  that  we  were  under. 

"We're  cut  off!"  he  cried.  "What  are  we  up  to? 
We're  mad!" 

"The  sword,"  muttered  Templeton.  "Four  hun 
dred  million  people  are  waiting  for  it.  The  sword!" 

Chico  got  to  his  feet  and  gripped  Templeton 
by  the  arm,  "There's  one  hope,"  he  whispered. 
"The  cave!  Quick!  The  cave!" 

It  seems  unbelievable  that  we  should  have  brought 
ourselves  into  a  trap  like  that,  but  we  were  crazy 
with  the  desire  that  came  of  dreams  that  appeared 
to  be  coming  true.  We  had  seen  the  Sword,  and 
we  thought  that  something  would  happen  that  would 
surely  give  us  a  chance  to  obtain  possession  of  it. 

Through  the  dark  opening  from  which  the  big 
stone  had  been  dragged  by  the  panting  mob  went 
Chico  and  Templeton,  and  I  stumbled  on  their 
heels.  Morgan  was  right.  The  cave  offered  the 
only  refuge  from  the  yelling  swarm,  and  as  the 
Panther  neared  the  doorway,  we  groped  our  way 
blindly  into  the  darkness.  We  didn't  think  of 
how  we  would  escape  from  the  place,  after  the  slab 


146  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

was  put  back  in  position.  I  know  I  didn't,  and 
I  am  sure  that  Chico  and  Red  had  no  thoughts 
on  the  matter  just  then.  We  wished  to  be  near 
the  Great  Parong  and  nothing  else  seemed  to  matter. 
We  forgot  everything  but  the  blade  in  the  grip  of 
the  Panther's  hands,  and  as  we  crouched  down  in 
the  darkness  we  were  seized  with  a  mad  ecstasy 
at  the  thought  that  in  a  few  minutes  we  would  be 
alone  with  the  thing  for  which  we  had  risked  so 
much. 

The  Panther  reached  the  doorway,  and  the  yells 
came  into  the  cave  and  woke  the  echoes  of  the 
place.  We  saw  the  blade  flash  in  the  moonlight 
as  it  was  lowered  at  the  door,  and  we  knew  that 
its  bearer  and  a  score  or  more  of  his  followers  were 
then  in  our  hiding-place.  We  didn't  breathe.  We 
jammed  ourselves  against  the  rocky  sides  of  the 
place  and  tried  to  still  the  mad  pounding  of  our 
hearts.  We  cursed  the  ticking  of  Templeton's 
watch  in  the  silence  that  followed  the  entry  of  the 
sword  bearer.  The  bull-roarer  became  silent,  the 
yells  subsided,  and  nothing  but  the  heavy  breathing 
and  the  soft  shuffling  of  naked  feet  disturbed  the 
silence. 

We  felt  the  heat  of  their  presence  as  they  passed 
close  to  us.  They  were  very  close.  The  handle 
of  a  spear  knocked  against  my  knee,  and  I  shivered. 


THE  GREAT  PARONG  147 

We  were  near  to  the  realization  of  all  our  hopes, 
and  yet  we  were  chilled  by  the  knowledge  that  the 
retreat  of  the  Panther  and  his  bodyguard  would  be 
followed  by  the  closing  of  the  entrance.  But  we 
would  not  have  made  an  effort  to  leave  that  place 
if  the  door  was  unguarded.  We  were  held  there 
by  a  lust  for  possession  that  was  stronger  than  the 
desire  for  life  itself. 

The  Panther  and  his  guard  halted  within  ten 
feet  of  us.  We  heard  the  chink  of  metal  against 
stone.  What  a  thrill  that  sound  brought  to  us! 
Then  the  bodies  shuffled  slowly  by,  passed  through 
the  opening  of  the  cave,  and  out  into  the  clearing. 
There  was  a  moment  of  quiet,  then  the  voice  of  the 
leader  roared  an  order,  and  with  shouts  and  screams 
the  big  stone  slab  was  hauled  into  place. 

"Glory  be!"  breathed  Chico.  "We're  locked  in, 
but  we're  locked  in  with  the  thing  we  have  been 
dreaming  of!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  WHITE    CLAW 

NOW  that  I  review  the  moments  which  fol 
lowed  the  closing  of  the  cave,  I  marvel  at 
the  accuracy  we  displayed  in  locating  that 
spot  from  which  had  come  the  chink  of  metal  upon 
stone.  It  was  extraordinary.  The  spot  was  over 
ten  feet  from  our  hiding-place,  and  the  cave  was  as 
black  as  the  heart  of  a  junk  pirate,  yet  we  stepped 
toward  it  with  a  certainty  that  seemed  to  be  born 
of  something  stronger  than  the  sense  of  direction 
acquired  from  the  sound  made  when  the  sword 
struck  the  block  of  stone  upon  which  it  rested.  Our 
three  outstretched  hands  touched  metal  at  the  same 
moment,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  we  sank  upon  our 
knees  beside  the  stone  slab.  We  were  touching  the 
Parong  of  Buddha,  the  wonder  blade  of  the  world ! 

"It's  it!"  cried  Templeton,  and  Chico  and  I 
repeated  the  words  as  our  fingers  slipped  up  and 
down  the  flat  of  the  great  blade.  "It's  it!  It's 
it!"  we  echoed. 

"We've  got  it  at  last!"  gasped  Templeton. 

148 


A  WHITE  CLAW  149 


"At  last!  At  last!"  shouted  Chico.  "Glory  be! 
We've  got  it  at  last!" 

We  were  hysterical  as  we  crouched  there  and 
fondled  that  thing.  We  thought  of  nothing  but 
it.  It  was  everything  to  us.  It  filled  our  hearts 
and  pushed  every  other  desire  and  craving  into 
the  background.  We  wept  over  it,  and  now 
and  then  we  cursed  it  for  the  madness  it  brought 
upon  us. 

"  We'll  stir  the  world,"  babbled  Chico.  "  We'll  set 
the  East  ablaze." 

"And  they're  my  people!"  cried  Templeton. 
"The  British,  I  mean!  And  this  thing  —  this  thing, 
Morgan,  will  push  them  out  of  India!  It  will,  I  tell 
you!  It  will!" 

"What  does  it  matter  to  us?"  snapped  Chico. 
"We've  found  it!  You  and  Lenford  and  I  found  it, 
and  'we  don't  care  what  it  does  to  others  as  long  as  it 
brings  everything  to  us." 

God  alone  knows  how  long  we  lay  in  the  dark  be 
side  that  stone,  our  fingers  moving  up  and  down 
the  tremendous  blade.  Courtney,  the  opium  fiend, 
obtained  no  such  delight  from  his  pipe  as  we  got 
from  the  contact  of  our  fingers  with  that  wonderfully 
smooth  blade.  It  thrust  out  of  our  minds  all 
thoughts  of  the  other  things  that  Gung  had  spoken 
of.  The  Sword,  like  the  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire, 


150  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

seemed  to  thrill  with  life,  and  we  could  not  leave  it 
for  an  instant. 

"Let  us  take  it  to  the  crevice  in  the  wall,"  said 
Chico.  "The  moonlight  streams  in  there,  and  we 
can  examine  it  better." 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Red.  "Here,  let  me  carry  it. 
I  have  the  handle." 

It  was  then  we  learned  of  the  tremendous  strength 
of  the  Spotted  Panther.  We  heard  Red  struggling 
with  that  blade  in  the  darkness,  then  he  cursed  softly 
and  spoke  to  us. 

"Didn't  the  Panther  carry  it  with  one  hand?"  he 
asked. 

"With  one  hand,"  I  answered.  "At  least  he 
carried  it  out  of  the  cave  with  one  hand." 

"Well,  I  can't  lift  it  .with  one  hand,"  said  Red. 
"You  have  a  try,  Morgan.  If  that  brute  can  juggle 
with  this  with  one  hand  he  must  have  the  strength 
of  a  Samson." 

Chico  stumbled  round  the  table  and  made  an 
attempt  to  lift  the  blade  with  one  hand,  but  he  was 
as  unsuccessful  as  Red. 

"He  must  have  the  arm  of  Thor,"  muttered 
Morgan.  "It's  quite  a  weight  to  handle  with  two 
hands." 

Chico  carried  the  blade  toward  the  crevice  in  the 
wall,  through  which  the  moonlight  was  streaming, 


A  WHITE  CLAW  151 


and  we  followed  him.  What  a  sword  it  was !  When 
Morgan  put  its  point  down  upon  the  floor  and  held 
it  in  the  white  beams  that  came  through  the  opening, 
we  stood  and  stared  at  it  till  our  teeth  chattered  from 
nervousness.  It  was  a  great  blade.  It  flung  up 
dreams  of  wonder  things,  and  as  the  rays  washed  its 
naked  length  in  a  bath  of  silver,  we  felt  that  it  was  a 
blade  that  Odin  might  have  gripped  as  he  toasted  the 
heroes  in  Walhalla.  We  knew  that  it  had  done  great 
things.  We  were  sure  it  had.  The  air  seemed  to  be 
charged  with  stories  of  its  deeds,  and  we  gathered 
them  in  through  our  skins.  We  were  in  a  state  of 
mind  that  would  have  made  us  feel  little  astonishment 
if  that  wonder  sword  had  started  to  tell  its  history 
to  us. 

The  emerald  handle  made  our  throats  feel  dry  as 
we  examined  it,  and  the  twisted  cobra  was  a  glorious 
piece  of  workmanship. 

"It  was  all  as  we  said,"  muttered  Chico.  "The 
golden  cobra  and  the  weight  and  height.  See,  it  is 
up  to  my  chin." 

"And  the  verse  upon  the  blade,"  said  Templeton. 
"Here  it  is  in  Hindustanee!  God  be  good  to  us, 
we're  made!  We're  princes!  We're  greater  than 
all  the  rajahs  of  the  thirteen  tributary  states  of 
India!" 

Chico  Morgan  and  I  just  stood  there  and  looked 


152  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

and  looked.  But  Red  Templeton  was  inspired  at 
that  moment.  He  surely  was.  He  put  his  hand  on 
the  golden  cobra  of  the  hilt  and  he  started  to  chant 
of  India  like  the  blind  fakir  at  the  door  of  the  Dil- 
wara  Temple.  We  never  can  tell  what  will  come  out 
of  the  recesses  of  the  brain.  Never!  Templeton 
didn't  know  that  he  was  the  possessor  of  the  infor 
mation  he  flung  at  us  that  night.  I'm  doubtful  if 
he  knows  to  this  day  what  he  said.  But  I  wish  I 
could  write  it  all  down  here.  It  might  make  his 
torians  think. 

He  chanted  of  Mahmud  and  Altmish,  of  Genghis 
Khan  and  the  Toghlak  kings.  He  told  of  battle 
and  fire,  of  pillage  and  slaughter,  of  death  and 
deviltry,  and  that  big  sword  seemed  to  have  a  part 
in  everything  that  he  spoke  of.  He  didn't  mention 
the  sword,  but  we  knew.  There  is  magic  in  the  air 
of  the  East.  When  he  told  how  the  Tartar  Timur 
galloped  his  big  black  horse  over  the  praying  women 
in  front  of  Delhi,  that  sword  seemed  to  thrill  in 
the  hands  of  Templeton.  We  knew  that  Timur 
carried  that  big  sword  as  he  galloped  up  the  slope. 
We  knew  in  a  way  that  I  cannot  explain. 

He  chanted  stories  of  monasteries  where  treasure 
of  gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones  were  guarded 
by  the  greasy  monks  in  the  yellow  robes  of  Buddhist 
priests.  And  we  knew  that  the  big  parong  was 


A  WHITE  CLAW  153 


among  those  treasures.  Once  at  the  Golden  Wat 
at  Bangkok  I  had  heard  a  Shan  priest  speak  to  a 
jade  Buddha  like  Templeton  spoke  to  that  sword. 
The  Shan  was  inspired  for  the  moment,  and  so  was 
Red.  We  believed  everything  he  said,  and  we 
could  believe  it  before  all  the  statements  made  by 
spectacled  historians  who  try  and  piece  together 
the  doings  of  yesterday.  It  was  wonderful! 

When  he  finished  we  stood  around  the  sword  like 
three  obsessed  men,  fingering  it  gently,  and  slowly 
turning  it  so  that  its  polished  blade  could  drink  up 
the  white  light  that  the  scared-looking  moon  was 
pouring  into  the  place.  And  we  didn't  waste  a 
thought  up  to  that  moment  as  to  how  we  would 
get  out  of  that  place.  The  intoxication  produced 
by  the  possession  of  the  weapon  made  us  forget  the 
great  slab  of  stone  that  barred  our  way  to  liberty. 
There  was  no  room  for  other  thoughts  to  get  into  our 
brain.  We  could  only  think  of  the  sword  and  the 
mental  pictures  which  Templeton's  chant  conjured 
up. 

"We'll  be  princes!"  said  Chico. 

"Ay!"  I  cried.  "I  dreamed  that  we  would  be 
princes  on  the  night  the  White  Mias  stampeded  the 
Dyaks  at  the  Place  of  Evil  Winds." 

"And  the  English  will  suffer,"  muttered  Temple- 
ton.  "They'll  suffer  when  the  news  spreads  like  a 


154  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

flame  from  Howrah  to  Peshawur.  And  the  English 
are  my  people.'' 

"We  might  make  a  deal  with  them,"  said  Chico. 
"The  three  of  us  and  Nao  —  Nao  is  in  the  deal,  you 
know.  We  might  sell  it  to  them  for  millions. 
Whatlf  I  struck  Broadway  with  a  million,  Lenford  ? 
If  we  got  a  million  each,  boy!" 

"But  the  English  are  my  people,"  persisted 
Templeton.  "And  this  will  push  them  into  the  Bay 
of  Bengal." 

"If  they  don't  make  a  deal  with  us,"  growled 
Morgan.  "We've  earned  it  and  we  are  willing  to 
stop  trouble  if " 

Chico  stopped  and  stared  at  the  crevice  in  the 
wall  of  the  cave.  The  moonlight  had  been  suddenly 
shut  off,  and  for  the  moment  we  were  unable  to  dis 
cern  the  reason. 

"It's  Nao!"  cried  Morgan.  "Speak  to  her,  Red! 
She  has  come  to  see  what  has  happened  to  us." 

It  was  the  Golden  One  who  was  peering  in 
through  the  opening,  and  she  expressed  her  joy  when 
she  discovered  that  we  were  alive.  I  think  that  the 
pleasure  she  derived  from  hearing  Morgan's  voice 
brought  her  more  delight  than  any  news  regarding 
Red  or  myself,  but  we  were  not  annoyed  at  the  pref 
erence.  Chico  had  saved  the  girl's  life  when  the 
Tring  had  attempted  to  make  her  a  target  for  his 


A  WHITE  CLAW  155 


blowpipe,  so  it  was  natural  that  she  should  be  inter 
ested  in  his  welfare. 

"Tell  her  she's  a  partner  in  the  sword,"  shouted 
Morgan.  "Tell  her  what  it's  worth,  Red !  She'll  be 
able  to  buy  half  of  Portugal  when  we  cash  in!" 

Templeton  spoke  to  the  girl  as  she  cried  excited 
questions  into  the  opening.  The  sword  didn't  seem 
to  trouble  Nao  at  that  moment. 

"  She  wants  to  know  how  we  are  going  to  get  out  of 
this  place,"  said  Red.  "She  thinks  we  are  im 
prisoned  for  all  time.  The  slab  can't  be  moved 
from  the  inside." 

"The  slab?"  muttered  Chico,  as  if  he  was  en 
deavouring  to  recall  something  that  had  slipped 
from  his  mind.  "Oh,  yes!  Tell  her  we'll  get  out, 
Red.  Tell  her  not  to  worry.  The  Lord  never  led 
us  to  this  blade  without  providing  a  way  to  get  us 
out  of  the  place." 

"She  can't  see  it  with  your  eyes,"  said  Templeton. 
"She  thinks  that  the  Panther  will  either  discover  our 
presence  and  starve  us  to  death  or  that  they'll  tumble 
in  on  us  the  next  time  the  moon  turns  red." 

"Let  them,"  cried  Morgan.  "I  feel  that  we're 
going  to  get  out  of  this  box.  I'm  sure  that  we  will. 
I've  got  a  hunch,  and  I'm  not  troubling  three  cents. 
Tell  her  what  I  say,  Templeton." 

Red  started  to  explain   Chico's  opinions  to  the 


156  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

girl,  but  while  he  was  still  speaking  the  girl  gave  a 
little  shriek  of  horror  and  dashed  across  the  clearing 
in  the  direction  of  the  kampong.  We  could  see  her 
distinctly  while  she  was  in  line  with  the  crevice  in  the 
rocky  wall  of  the  cave,  and  we  watched  her  with 
wide-open  eyes  as  she  plunged  into  the  trees  and 
disappeared. 

"What  is  the  matter  now?"  gasped  Chico. 

"She  must  have  seen  some  one,"  whispered  Tem- 
pleton.  "She  saw  somebody  over  there  to  the  right. 
I  saw  the  fear  sweep  over  her  face  when  she  turned 
and  bolted  for  the  village." 

That  happening  made  us  think  of  our  position, 
and  a  feeling  of  helplessness  stole  over  us  as  we 
peered  through  the  narrow  crevice  at  the  moonlit 
clearing.  If  the  Golden  One  had  put  herself  in 
danger  by  allying  herself  with  us,  we  were  unable  to 
give  her  the  slightest  help,  and  for  a  few  moments 
we  forgot  the  Great  Sword  of  Buddha  as  we  guessed 
blindly  at  the  reason  for  her  mad  rush  across  the 
cleared  space. 

"  It  might  be  the  Panther,"  muttered  Templeton. 
"He  was  wandering  around  here  the  night  we  struck 
this  place." 

Chico  cursed  softly  as  he  twisted  his  neck  in  a 
vain  endeavour  to  see  the  shadowy  clumps  to  the 
right.  "Hold  the  sword  for  a  moment!"  he  cried. 


A  WHITE  CLAW  157 


"I'll  try  and  get  a  better  look  by  climbing  up  here." 
Templeton  took  the  Great  Sword,  while  Morgan 
endeavoured  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  clearing  by 
climbing  upon  a  rock  and  peering  through  a  part  of 
the  crevice  that  was  a  little  wider  than  the  portion 
that  was  directly  upon  the  level  of  our  eyes.  Not 
a  sound  came  from  the  outside.  A  silence  hung  over 
the  village,  and  not  a  breath  of  air  disturbed  the 
trees. 

Chico,  hanging  to  the  rocky  projections,  thrust 
his  face  against  the  crevice  while  we  stood  and 
watched  him. 

"Can  you  see  anything?"  asked  Templeton. 
"  Whatever  it  was  it  is Great  God ! " 

Red's  shriek  followed  the  devilish  snarl  that  came 
from  the  outside.  Chico  Morgan  lost  his  grip  upon 
the  rock  and  toppled  backward,  but  as  he  was  falling, 
a  white  paw  slipped  through  the  aperture  with  the 
speed  of  lighting,  and  Chico's  arm  was  caught  in  a 
'  clutch  of  steel. 

"Quick!"  he  shouted.     "The  sword!" 

It  was  Red  Templeton  whose  iron  nerves  were  not 
upset  by  the  happening  and  who  was  able  to  obey 
Morgan's  order.  The  big  Englishman  lifted  the 
Great  Parong  of  Buddha  and  brought  it  down  on 
that  snaky,  muscular  claw  that  held  Chico  with  an 
ease  that  terrified  us. 


158  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

The  big  blade  cut  through  the  white  paw  as  if  it 
were  a  straw  and  as  Morgan  stumbled  back  from  the 
opening,  a  howl  of  fury  ripped  through  the  night.  It 
was  a  terrible  cry.  It  went  out  across  the  jungle 
like  a  lariat  of  sound,  and  for  a  few  seconds  we  stood 
still  and  listened.  Then  Red  spoke. 

"Did  you  see?"  he  asked.  "Was  it  that?" 
Chico  kicked  the  hairy  claw  into  the  strip  of 
moonlight  upon  the  stone  floor.  "It  was  the  White 
Mias,"  he  said  quietly.  "The  infernal  brute 
reached  for  me  with  the  speed  of  a  rattler.  Listen! 
They're  moving  in  the  village,  and  that  thing  will 
leave  a  trail  of  blood  to  show  them  where  it  was 
injured!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NINE   HEADS 

WHETHER  the  kampong  had  been  aroused 
fey  the  weird  cry,  or  whether  the  Golden 
One  or  the  sentinel  had  given  the  alarm, 
we  could  not  tell,  but  Chico  spoke  the  truth  when  he 
said  that  the  people  of  the  Spotted  Panther  were 
moving.  We  surmised,  though,  that  they  were  really 
ignorant  of  the  near  presence  of  the  White  Mias. 
Nao  had  informed  us  that  the  people  of  the  village 
held  the  brute  in  great  fear,  and  that  this  fear  kept 
them  in  their  attap  houses  after  a  certain  hour,  so 
that  when  we  heard  them  crashing  through  the  trees 
in  the  direction  of  the  cave  we  credited  their  cour 
age  to  ignorance. 

"If  they  see  the  thing  they'll  break  their 
necks  racing  for  shelter,"  said  Chico.  "Golly!  she 
has  a  grip  that  made  me  feel  like  a  toy  terrier  in  the 
mouth  of  a  mastiff!" 

The  headhunters  broke  from  cover  and  came  across 
the  clearing  yelling  like  fiends.  The  Panther  was  in 
the  lead,  and  near  him  was  his  muscular  lieutenant. 

159 


160  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Behind  them  surged  the  naked  warriors,  while 
women  and  children  ran  with  the  men  and  increased 
the  racket. 

"Get  back  in  the  shadow,"  cried  Templeton. 
"They're  bound  to  peep  in." 

With  Red  carrying  the  Great  Sword,  we  moved 
back  from  the  crevice  and  stood  listening  to  the 
yells.  The  mob  came  straight  for  the  cave.  They 
surged  against  it  like  a  black  wave,  scurried  this  way 
and  that,  then  stopped  as  a  terrific  shout  went  up 
from  the  Panther. 

"Mias!"  he  screamed.     "  Aintu  mias!" 

A  silence  gripped  the  mob  as  they  packed  closer 
round  the  crevice.  The  Panther  had  found  the 
blood  of  the  ghostly  orang-utan  and  his  followers 
crushed  together  in  their  fear.  At  the  rear  of  the 
crowd  some  women  and  children  started  to  sob  wildly, 
but  their  sobs  were  suppressed  as  the  leader  shrieked 
an  order  to  the  men. 

Red  Templeton  understood  the  meaning  of  that 
order.  With  a  little  cry  of  warning  he  turned 
toward  the  stone  slab  upon  which  we  had  discovered 
the  sword,  and  Chico  and  I  stumbled  after  him. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Morgan. 

"They're  coming  into  this  place!"  answered  Red. 
"We  must  put  the  sword  back  upon  the  stone  and 
hide  in  the  back  of  the  cave.  Quick! " 


NINE  HEADS  161 


"But  they  might  take  the  sword  to  the  village!" 
protested  Chico. 

"No,  no!"  snapped  Templeton.  "They're  won 
dering  how  the  blood  came  to  be  on  the  rocks  outside, 
and  they're  coming  in  to  look." 

"But  the  paw?"  whispered  Chico. 

"Leave* it  there!  Hurry!  They're  moving  the 
door!" 

Templeton  put  the  Great  Sword  upon  the  stone 
from  which  we  had  taken  it,  then  we  stumbled 
blindly  into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  cave.  The 
cavern  ran  back  a  considerable  distance,  and  we 
were  fully  thirty  yards  from  the  opening  when  the 
slab  was  pushed  aside,  and  the  Panther,  carrying  a 
torch  of  resin  wood,  stalked  into  the  place  with  the 
mob  at  his  heels. 

The  masked  leader  led  the  way  to  the  crevice  in 
the  rock,  and  we  crouched  behind  a  projecting  shelf 
and  watched  the  torch  bobbing  up  and  down.  We 
were  certain  now  that  the  white  paw  which  Tem 
pleton  had  sliced  off  the  brute  that  gripped  Chico 
would  be  discovered,  and  we  wondered  stupidly 
what  discoveries  would  follow  the  find. 

The  Panther  stopped,  lifted  his  torch  high  in  the 
air,  and  then  chilled  our  blood  by  giving  vent  to  a 
moan  of  supreme  terror  that  was  taken  up  by  his 
bodyguard  and  then  by  the  crowd  in  the  clearing. 


1 62  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

It  was  an  infamous  cry.  It  made  our  teeth  chatter 
with  the  thoughts  of  the  agony  it  told  of.  It  con 
jured  up  visions  of  witches,  of  devils,  of  things  ter 
rible  and  terrifying  that  the  silent  jungles  had  bred 
in  the  minds  of  the  Kyans. 

The  Panther  moaned  again  and  again,  and  we 
fidgeted  uneasily.  I  had  a  mad  desire  to  stand  up 
and  scream  a  protest  against  the  strange  whine  of 
fear,  and  I  am  sure  that  Templeton  and  Morgan  had 
the  same  inclination.  The  peculiar  outcry  was 
creating  an  atmosphere  like  the  one  manufactured 
by  Gung  and  the  ten  Dyaks  at  the  Place  of  Evil 
Winds. 

The  big  leader  turned  suddenly  from  the  contem 
plation  of  the  severed  claw  and  rushed  toward  the 
stone  slab  upon  which  rested  the  Great  Parong  of 
Buddha,  and  we  held  our  breath.  The  torch  was 
held  low  over  the  big  sword,  then  with  a  wild  yell  of 
terror  the  Panther  dashed  for  the  door,  and  the 
screaming  bodyguard  followed  him.  They  had 
seen  the  blood  upon  the  big  blade,  and  fear  gripped 
them  with  a  clutch  that  was  more  terrible  than 
death  itself! 

"Be  ready!"  whispered  Templeton.  "They 
might  forget  the  slab." 

But  that  was  one  thing  which  the  terrified  mob 
was  not  likely  to  forget.  It  was  evident  to  them  that 


NINE  HEADS  163 

an  aintu,  or  hill  spirit,  had  used  the  sword  to  cut 
off  the  paw  of  the  White  Mias,  and  as  the  evil  spirit 
must  be  in  the  cave,  it  was  their  duty  to  keep  it 
there.  As  we  sprang  to  our  feet  in  readiness  to 
dash  out  of  the  opening  in  case  the  first  shock  of 
terror  would  carry  the  crowd  back  to  the  kampong, 
the  big  stone  slab  was  pushed  into  place,  and  we 
were  prisoners  again. 

"What  a  scare  it  gave  them!"  said  Chico. 
"Listen!  They're  running  for  the  village  at  full 
speed." 

"It  hasn't  done  us  much  good,"  muttered  Tem- 
pleton.  "They  won't  open  this  place  for  another 
ten  years.  They  think  that  a  spirit  used  the  Sword 
to  clip  off  the  paw  of  the  orang-utan,  and  you  can 
bet  your  last  dollar  that  they  have  no  desire  to  get 
close  to  the  spirit." 

Morgan  was  alongside  the  stone  slab  upon  which 
was  the  Sword,  and  the  fascination  exercised  by  the 
wonderful  blade  made  Templeton's  words  have  little 
effect  upon  him.  And  I  don't  think  Templeton 
thought  much  of  how  we  were  going  to  get  out  of  the 
place  when  he  came  back  to  the  glorious  weapon. 
We  could  think  of  nothing  but  its  beauty  when  we 
came  near,  and  we  fingered  it  lovingly  as  we  gathered 
round  it. 

"We'll  get  out  when  the  time  comes,"  muttered 


164  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Chico.  "We'll  get  out  all  right.  Do  you  know  — 
don't  think  I'm  mad  when  I  tell  you  this  —  but 
this  blade  seems  to  tell  me  that  we'll  get  out  with  it." 

"I  have  the  same  feeling,"  said  Templeton.  "It 
tells  me  the  same." 

"And  I  feel  as  you  two  do,"  I  stammered. 

"What  did  that  verse  say  that  you  could  do  every 
thing  with?"  asked  Chico. 

"With  Faith,"  answered  Red.  "It  is  here  on 
the  blade.  Can't  you  feel  the  letters  with  your 
fingertips?  And  it's  the  truth.  It  says: 

"Ocean  and  sea  and  swift  river, 
Mountain,  volcano  and  hill 
Slow-circling  planets  and  Stardust  — 
With  Faith  I  can  build  them  at  will." 

"Well,  I'm  a  perpetual  fountain  of  faith,"  said 
Morgan.  "I'm  going  to  take  this  sword  to  Ban- 
jermassin  if  ten  million  Dyaks  were  in  the  way. 
Then  we'll  tote  it  over  to  Benares,  and  we'll  charge 
ten  rupees  a  head  for  every  blamed  Buddhist  to  get 
a  peep  at  it.  How  many  of  them  did  you  reckon 
there  was,  Red  ? " 

"There  are  four  hundred  million  Buddhists  in  the 
East,"  answered  Templeton.  "That's  the  lowest 
estimate  of  the  number  in  India,  China,  Tibet,  and 
Japan." 


NINE  HEADS  165 


"Then  we'll  travel  with  it,"  said  Chico.  "We'll 
have  old  P.  T.  Barnum's  reputation  looking  like  a 
wet  cruller.  Four  hundred  millions  at  ten  rupees 
apiece!  And  only  four  of  us  in  the  partnership!" 

Red  picked  up  the  Great  Parong  and  moved  over 
to  the  crevice  where  the  moonlight  would  allow  us  to 
feast  our  eyes  again  upon  its  beauty.  The  touch  of  it 
thrilled  us,  but  the  sight  of  it  maddened  us.  It  was 
a  thousand  times  more  impressive  than  the  Chalice 
of  Everlasting  Fire.  The  chalice  was  beautiful,  but 
the  big  blade  seemed  to  be  the  abode  of  power  and 
force.  We  knew  that  the  hands  of  princes  and 
emperors  —  ay,  and  of  the  Great  Buddha  himself  — 
had  gripped  the  emerald  handle,  and  that  the  golden 
cobra  had  felt  the  swelling  muscles  of  men  who  had 
built  their  thrones  upon  the  smouldering  ruins  of  em 
pires  they  destroyed.  Glory  be!  it  was  wonderful! 
Things  that  Chico  and  I  knew  nothing  of  thrust 
themselves  into  our  minds  as  we  looked  at  it.  It 
conjured  up  dreams  of  battles.  We  saw  charging 
hosts  —  Mongols  and  Tartars,  Pathans  and  Raj 
puts,  bloody  Mahommedans  and  wild-eyed  Sikhs. 
We  were  crazy  men  just  then.  That  blade  brought 
up  visions  of  fights  that  had  never  been  written  of, 
of  battles  where  men  who  knew  not  fear  went  sing 
ing  to  their  death  behind  a  leader  who  swung  the 
sword. 


i66  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

It  must  have  been  long  after  midnight  when  Red 
took  another  look  at  the  clearing.  And  it  was  lucky 
for  us  that  he  made  that  examination.  Coming 
toward  the  crevice,  each  armed  with  a  deadly  blow 
pipe,  were  the  Spotted  Panther  and  his  big  lieutenant. 

"Get  under  cover!"  cried  Chico.  "They've  got 
over  their  fright,  and  they'll  send  darts  into  this 
place  till  there  won't  be  a  square  inch  without  a 
puncture." 

Morgan  grabbed  the  big  sword,  and,  with  Red 
and  me  behind  him,  went  stumbling  back  into  the 
dark  recesses  of  the  place.  A  revolver  did  not  appear 
to  us  as  half  so  deadly  a  weapon  as  the  silent  blow 
pipe.  We  recalled  as  we  hurried  into  the  darkness, 
the  sudden  manner  in  which  the  whining  man- 
hound  had  departed  for  a  better  world  on  the  morn 
ing  before,  and  we  lost  no  time  in  moving  out  of 
range. 

We  heard  the  voice  of  the  two  giants  at  the  open 
ing  as  we  groped  our  way  forward.  The  floor  of  the 
cave  was  uneven,  and  this  nearly  proved  our  undoing. 
Chico,  carrying  the  sword,  stumbled  and  fell, 
and  while  Red  and  I  stooped  to  give  him  a  help 
ing  hand,  something  that  made  a  sound  like  the  buz 
zing  of  a  small  fly,  whipped  between  our  two  heads. 

"Get  down  and  crawl!"  whispered  Templeton. 
"On  your  knees!    On  your  knees!" 


NINE  HEADS  167 


I  got  lower  than  my  knees.  I  squirmed  along  on 
my  stomach,  filled  with  terror  lest  one  of  the  unseen 
darts  would  find  me.  It  was  not  exactly  death  that 
we  feared  at  that  moment.  We  had  faced  death 
before,  but  we  had  never  faced  it  with  such  a  wonder 
ful  treasure  in  our  possession.  We  were  horrified 
at  the  thought  of  death  now  that  the  Great  Sword 
was  in  our  hands. 

"Keep  moving,"  whispered  Chico.  "We'll  be  out 
of  range  directly." 

We  struck  the  rear  wall  of  the  cave  and  crawled 
along  it,  feeling  blindly  for  a  niche  of  some  kind  into 
which  we  could  thrust  ourselves  for  protection. 
Our  sixth  sense  told  us  that  we  were  still  in  range  of 
the  deadly  blowpipes,  and  the  wet  wall  seemed 
mighty  unsympathetic  as  we  clawed  at  it  in  an  effort 
to  find  shelter. 

Chico  Morgan  stopped  after  we  had  been  fingering 
that  rock  for  about  ten  minutes,  and  he  poked 
around  in  the  darkness. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Red. 

"Fm  looking  for  something,"  whispered  Chico. 
"Say,  how  many  heads  did  I  poke  into  that  hole  in 
the  floor  of  the  little  cave  on  the  cliff." 

"Nine,"  I  answered. 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  Morgan. 

"  Certain." 


i68  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Well,  they're  here,"  breathed  Morgan.  "I 
found  them  by  their  odour.  Nine  heads,  all  in  a 
row.  It  looks  as  if  the  water  had  worn  a  passage 
through  the  soft  limestone  from  the  little  cave  down 
into  this  place." 

Templeton  and  I  felt  our  way  to  Chico's  side  and 
fingered  the  heads.  We  counted  them  half  a  dozen 
times.  There  were  nine,  sure  enough,  and  although 
we  carefully  searched  the  immediate  vicinity  we 
could  find  no  others. 

"  But  there's  nothing  to  it,"  whispered  Red.  "  It's 
just  a  coincidence." 

"Not  so,"  protested  Chico.  "I  know  the  infernal 
smell  of  these  skulls.  I'll  wager  that  they're  the 
same  batch." 

"And  if  they  are,  what  good  will  it  do  us? "asked 
Templeton.  "The  hole  isn't  large  enough  for  a  boy 
to  crawl  through." 

"But  the  sandstone  is  rotten,"  breathed  Chico. 
"Spirits  o'  nitre!  there's  a  hope!  The  little  cave 
in  the  cliff  must  be  directly  above  this  spot,  and  if 
these  heads  rolled  down  through  the  passage  there's 
a  possibility  of  our  climbing  back  through  it." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  PASSAGE  IN  THE  CLIFF 

MORGAN'S  argument  brought  hope.  The 
fact  that  the  number  of  heads  upon  the 
floor  in  the  cave  corresponded  with  the 
number  Chico  had  thrust  down  the  hole  appeared 
to  be  something  more  than  a  mere  coincidence, 
and  we  groped  madly  around  in  search  of  an  opening 
in  the  wall. 

"They  didn't  come  through  the  roof,  if  they  came 
at[all,"  muttered  Chico.  "  If  they  had  fallen  through 
the  roof  they  would  have  bounced  in  all  directions. 
The  passage  is  in  the  side  wall." 

Our  fingers  were  bleeding  as  we  rubbed  them  over 
the  wet  wall.  At  the  other  end  of  the  cave  we 
could  see  the  thin  strip  of  moonlight  where  the 
Panther  and  his  lieutenant  were  busy  with  their 
blowpipes,  and  we  knew  that  they  had  knowledge 
of  our  position.  Their  deep  whispers  came  to  us, 
and  we  sensed  the  flying  death  upon  the  atmosphere. 

It  was  Red  Templeton  who  discovered  the  pas 
sage  down  which  the  nine  heads  had  rolled  from  the 

169 


170  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

little  cave  up  on  the  cliffside.  The  opening  was 
about  five  feet  from  the  floor,  and  it  was  so  narrow 
that  a  grown  man  could  not  get  his  shoulders  in 
side.  But  the  sandstone  was  so  soft  that  it 
broke  away  in  large  pieces  when  we  touched  it 
with  our  hands. 

"We  must  make  it  larger,"  breathed  Templeton. 
"If  we  could  get  back  to  the  small  cave  we  could 
escape  across  the  morass  to-morrow  night.  Wouldn't 
it  be  great!" 

"It  would,"  Chico  muttered,  as  he  clawed  at 
the  wall  with  one  hand  while  he  grabbed  the  big 
blade  with  the  other.  "It  would  be  splendid! 
If  we  could  get  this  sword  to  Benares,  boys!  Tear 
into  it!  We've  got  to  get  out!" 

A  thrill  swept  over  us  then,  and  we  forgot  the 
pair  at  the  crevice.  We  tried  to  remember  them, 
but  we  couldn't.  We  tried  to  keep  our  voices  down, 
but  the  wine  of  victory  intoxicated  us,  and  we 
shouted  encouragement  to  each  other.  That  sword 
must  have  made  a  thousand  victors.  The  man  who 
had  it  in  his  possession  could  not  possibly  be  a 
craven.  It  brought  confidence,  power,  victory. 
We  could  understand  how  the  Tartar  Timur  had 
galloped  his  big  black  horse  to  the  gates  of  Delhi 
when  he  had  that  blade  in  his  hands.  It  filled 
him  with  such  courage  that  he  would  have  galloped 


THE  PASSAGE  IN  THE  CLIFF  171 

to  the  gates  of  Hades  and  challenged  the  Evil 
Spirits  to  mortal  combat. 

We  worked  like  madmen  in  tearing  away  the 
soft  sandstone.  It  came  away  in  masses,  and 
Templeton  crawled  up  into  the  opening  and  thrust 
the  rock  back  with  hands  and  feet. 

"Go  after  him,  Lenford!"  ordered  Chico.  "I've 
got  the  sword,  so  I'll  go  last." 

I  crawled  into  the  burrow  behind  Red,  and  al 
though  I  was  nearly  smothered  by  the  avalanche  of 
sand  he  flung  back  upon  me,  I  held  to  my  task  of 
thrusting  it  back  into  the  cavern  to  make  room 
for  what  he  dislodged.  We  couldn't  speak.  The 
dust  choked  us,  but  as  we  scratched  and  scraped 
in  that  passage  our  thoughts  went  out  across  the 
China  Sea  and  the  Indian  Ocean  to  the  Temple  at 
Benares,  where  our  minds  pictured  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  who  would  gather  to  see  the  wonder 
blade  we  had  brought  from  its  hiding-place. 

Red  Templeton  stopped  scratching  and  called  a 
question  to  me. 

"Is  Morgan  in  the  burrow?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "I'll  speak  to 
him." 

I  turned  my  head  and  called  out  to  Chico,  but 
I  got  no  answer,  so  I  slipped  back  over  the  dirt 
into  the  cave. 


172  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Morgan,"  I  whispered.  "Where  are  you?" 
A  gurgle  came  from  the  darkness,  and  I  dropped 
upon  my  knees  and  felt  around.  That  gurgle 
terrified  me.  I  knew  that  Chico  had  been  wounded, 
but,  curiously,  the  fear  that  came  to  me  was 
not  from  the  knowledge  of  Morgan's  danger. 
I  was  afraid  that  the  sword  might  have  been 
taken  from  him  after  he  had  been  struck  down. 
Chico  was  my  friend,  but  the  Great  Sword  of 
Buddha  was  more  to  me  at  that  moment  than  any 
friend. 

I  found  Morgan  upon  the  floor,  breathing  heavily, 
and  when  I  clutched  his  arms  to  find  out  if  he  still 
possessed  the  sword,  I  discovered  that  the  right 
hand  was  wet  and  sticky.  The  left  gripped  the 
big  emerald  handle,  and  as  I  shook  him  gently,  my 
brain  told  me  what  had  happened.  I  caught  the 
wet  hand  and  checked  the  guess  which  my  mind  had 
made.  A  dart  from  the  deadly  blowpipes  had 
pierced  the  first  finger  of  Chico's  right  hand,  and 
knowing  that  death  would  follow  if  he  did  not  act 
quickly  he  had  sliced  off  the  finger  with  the  big 
parong.  I  knew  that  he  had  either  fainted  from 
the  loss  of  blood,  or  else  was  in  a  comatose  con 
dition  produced  by  the  small  amount  of  poison 
which  had  entered  his  sytem  before  he  amputated 
his  finger. 


THE  PASSAGE  IN  THE  CLIFF  173 

Before  I  had  time  to  bind  up  the  wound,  Red 
Templeton  was  beside  me. 

"What  is  wrong?"  he  whispered. 

I  explained  the  situation,  and  Red  endeavoured 
to  rouse  Chico  while  I  bound  the  thumb  with  rough 
bandages  I  made  from  the  sleeves  of  my  shirt. 

"Wake  up,  Morgan,"  whispered  Templeton. 
"Wake  up,  man!  You're  not  hurt." 

Chico  groaned  gently,  rolled  over  on  his  side  and 
tried  to  move  his  legs.  "They  feel  dead,"  he  gasped. 
"Could — could  one  of  you  fellows  rub  them  a 
moment?  The  poison  from  that  dart  made  me 
feel  as  dead  as  a  lump  of  wood." 

"  It'll  wear  off  after  a  few  minutes,"  said  Templeton. 
"You  were  lucky  you  got  the  thing  in  your  finger." 

Red  and  I  rubbed  vigorously  at  Chico's  arms 
and  legs,  and  after  about  five  minutes'  hard  work  on 
our  part,  the  circulation  improved.  The  numbness 
left  his  limbs,  and  with  Templeton  and  me  supporting 
him,  we  managed  to  get  him  into  the  passage. 

"Give  me  the  Sword,"  said  Red.  "I'll  go  first, 
and  Lenford  can  push  you  from  the  rear." 

"No,  I'll  carry  the  blade,"  muttered  Chico. 
"I'm  all  right  now.  The  stuff  they  dip  those  darts 
into  must  be  strong!  It  had  hardly  whipped  into 
my  finger  before  all  the  blood  in  my  body  turned 
to  lead" 


174  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

We  felt  safe  from  those  infernal  poisoned  darts 
when  we  crept  into  the  passage,  even  if  there  was  a 
bit  of  scratching  to  be  done  before  we  could  reach 
the  cave  on  the  cliff. 

"I  believe  we'll  get  there,"  whispered  Templeton. 
"I  feel  a  freshness  in  the  air." 

We  worked  like  madmen!  We  tore  at  that  soft 
stone  till  our  finger  nails  were  broken  and  bleeding. 
Lying  on  our  stomachs,  we  wormed  our  way  upward, 
and  our  thoughts  of  the  Great  Sword  gave  us  a 
strength  that  made  us  think  we  were  able  to  tear 
down  a  mountain.  We  didn't  stop  to  picture  the 
difficulties  that  lay  in  front  of  us  when  we  reached 
the  cave,  we  only  thought  of  the  task  of  getting 
there,  and  Templeton  nearly  smothered  Chico 
by  the  amount  of  sand  that  he  thrust  back  upon 
him. 

"We're  nearly  there!"  he  cried.  "I  can  sniff 
the  air  of  the  dawn.  •  Keep  at  it.  For  the  love  of 
heaven!  keep  at  it!" 

Red  was  right  about  the  chill  of  the  dawn  in  the 
air  that  came  to  us  from  the  direction  in  which  we 
were  climbing.  The  nine  heads  had  surely  come 
down  by  the  water-worn  passage,  which  was  unknown 
to  the  Spotted  Panther  and  his  followers ! 

"Four  hundred  million  at  ten  rupees  a  head!" 
gasped  Chico.  "Don't  smother  me,  Templeton! 


THE  PASSAGE  IN  THE  CLIFF  175 

You'll  get  enough  out  of  the  business  without 
trying  to  kill  me!" 

Red  was  nearly  crazy  just  then,  and  Chico  and 
I  were  as  bad.  We  sniffed  the  cold  air  and  we 
longed  to  see  the  dawnlight  beating  on  the  emerald 
handle,  on  the  hilt  made  of  the  twisted  cobra,  and 
on  the  glory  of  the  golden  blade  that  had  torn  kings 
and  emperors  from  their  thrones. 

Templeton  gave  a  gurgle  of  joy,  and  we  knew 
what  had  happened.  He  had  thrust  his  head  up 
through  the  opening  into  which  Chico  had  stuffed 
the  heads  the  night  before,  and,  smothered  with 
earth,  we  fought  our  way  up  and  stretched  ourselves 
full  length  beside  him.  Chico  laid  the  great  blade 
lengthwise  in  front  of  us,  and  in  the  faint  dim  light 
of  the  dawn  we  did  obeisance  to  it.  We  were  infidels 
then.  We  knew  no  God  only  the  god  of  strength 
and  power  that  we  sensed  in  the  Great  Parong  of 
Buddha. 

Chico  crawled  to  the  round  opening  from  which 
we  had  watched  the  human  bloodhound  twenty- 
four  hours  previously  —  it  seemed  twenty-four 
years  to  us  just  then  —  and  he  looked  out  toward 
the  village  and  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh. 

"Do  you  think  we  could  do  it?"  questioned  Red. 
"Could  we  creep  down  to  the  marsh  and  get  away 
before  sunrise?" 


176  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

" I  don't  think  so,"  answered  Morgan.  "It  would 
be  a  narrow  squeeze.  Besides  —  besides " 

"Besides  what?"  asked  Templeton. 

"There's  Nao,"  said  Chico  quietly.  "We're 
not  going  out  of  this  spot  without  her.  At  least 
I'm  not  going." 

Templeton  looked  at  the  Great  Sword  for  a 
moment  without  speaking.  When  one  forgot  his 
God  in  looking  at  that  blade,  Red's  momentary 
forgetfulness  of  the  Golden  One  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at. 

"We  could  wait  for  her  on  the  other  side  of  the 
morass,"  he  muttered. 

"There'll  be  no  waiting  game  for  us  when  we 
leave  here,"  snapped  Chico.  "Besides,  we'd  never 
get  across  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  if  she  wasn't 
there  to  guide  us." 

That  sounded  like  gospel  truth  to  Templeton 
and  me.  Morgan's  remark  brought  up  a  vision 
of  the  squealing  boar  and  the  circular  mouths 
fringed  with  the  green  slimy  moss  —  the  mouths 
that  quivered  as  we  walked  near  them,  as  if  they 
were  hungry  for  something  to  devour. 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  put  in  another  day  here,'* 
said  Templeton  quietly.  "I  hope  the  fiends  don't 
locate  us,  although  I've  got  a  feeling  in  my  bones 
that  they  will." 


THE  PASSAGE  IN  THE  CLIFF  177 

I  had  the  same  feeling  as  I  lay  on  the  floor  of  the 
little  cave  and  fingered  the  blade,  waiting  anxiously 
for  the  sun  to  rise  so  that  the  full  beauty  of  the 
thing  might  be  shown  to  us.  We  had  only  seen 
it  in  the  moonlight,  but  it  was  never  made  to  be 
examined  by  the  moonlight.  It  was  to  be  seen  only 
when  the  blazing  sun  flashed  upon  its  glorious 
length  of  blade,  and  the  great  cobra  and  the  magnifi 
cent  emerald  fed  upon  the  sunbeams. 

"Yes,  we'll  have  to  wait,"  said  Chico.  "They're 
stirring  already  in  the  village,  and  we're  not  in 
the  humour  for  a  ten-mile  run  with  a  few  hundred 
niggers  after  us." 

Templeton  brought  the  Great  Parong  close  to 
the  opening,  and  as  the  pink  blush  crept  into  the 
eastern  sky,  we  knelt  beside  it  and  marvelled  as 
the  beauty  of  the  workmanship  was  made  plainer 
as  the  light  increased.  There  was  never  a  blade 
in  all  the  world  like  that  blade.  There  couldn't  be. 
As  we  sat  and  stared  at  it  we  knew  it  to  be  the  subject 
of  half  the  battle  songs  of  the  East.  We  knew! 
The  great  emerald  of  the  handle  that  fitted  into 
the  mouth  of  the  golden  cobra  we  recognized  as 
the  emerald  which  the  holy  Hussan  saw  drop  from 
the  seventh  heaven  when  the  soul  of  the  Yogi 
entered,  while  the  cobra  brought  back  to  our  minds 
the  stories  which  the  Shans  tell  of  the  hamadryad 


178  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

of  Gautama  that  saps  the  courage  of  all  who  look 
upon  it.  We  could  understand  how  the_courage 
of  a  man  would  be  sucked  up  when  he  saw  the 
Sword  swinging  before  his  eyes. 

But  it  was  the  blade  itself  —  the  beautiful, 
sinuous  blade  —  that  gripped  us.  Down  its  shining 
length  were  the  words  of  the  poem  that  Gung  had 
recited  to  us,  and  although  the  words  were  in  a 
tongue  that  we  were  ignorant  of,  we  felt  that  we 
could  have  read  them  if  Gung  had  never  told  us 
of  their  meaning.  That  was  curious.  Chico  fol 
lowed  the  inlaid  words  with  his  fingers,  chanting  the 
verse  softly  as  he  moved  his  hand  down  the  blade, 
and  we  had  the  same  opinion  as  Morgan  as  to  where 
each  line  ended.  Red  and  I  joined  in  with  him  as 
he  reached  the  last  two  lines,  and  just  as  the  rim  of 
the  golden  sun  peeped  above  the  green  swath  of 
jungle,  we  spoke  them  together: 

"  Slow-circling  planets  and  star-dust, 
With  Faith  I  can  build  them  at  will." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   CHALLENGE 

THERE  was  something  strange  about  the 
morning  which  broke  upon  us  as  we  lay 
in  that  little  cave  on  the  cliffs  id  e.  Per 
haps  it  was  the  possession  of  the  Great  Parong 
that  made  us  feel  that  it  was  a  morning  totally 
different  from  any  that  we  had  lived.  Perhaps 
our  covetousness  had  changed  us  so  that  we  saw 
signs  that  we  had  never  looked  for  before.  But 
whatever  it  was  that  brought  the  feeling,  we  could 
not  rid  ourselves  of  it,  and  with  faces  filthy  with 
blood  and  perspiration  we  lay  at  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  and  watched  and  waited.  We  had  not  eaten 
anything  since  noon  of  the  previous  day,  and  our 
throats  were  parched  with  thirst. 

"I  feel  as  if  something  is  going  to  happen," 
said  Chico.  "I've  got  an  itch  in  the  soles  of  my 
feet,  and  I  get  that  always  on  red-letter  days. 
Don't  you  remember  that  I  had  the  feeling  on  the 
morning  the  crew  of  the  Happy  Prince  mutinied, 
Lenford?" 


i8o  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Yes,  you  did,"  I  answered. 

"Sure,  I  did,"  said  Chico.  "I  get  hunches  about 
big  happenings,  and  I've  got  one  right  now." 

"I  think  we  should  have  chanced  the  morass," 
remarked  Templeton.  "If  they  find  the  sword  has 
been  taken  from  the  cave  they'll  rake  every  inch 
of  this  country  in  search  of  it." 

"Let  them,"  snarled  Chico.  "We've  got. the 
treasure,  and  we've  got  a  few  cartridges  that  will 
make  it  awkward  for  any  one  who  attempts  to  get 
it  back  in  a  hurry.  And  we've  got  something 
else,  Red.  Do  you  know  what  it  is?" 

"Faith,"  answered  Templeton. 

"Ay,  Faith!"  cried  Chico.  "What  does  that 
verse  say  it  has  done?  That's  it!  'Hurled  up  the 
mountains  that  whisper  a  litany  sweet  to  the  sun!' 
Why  I  feel  as  if  I  could  raid  the  kampong  with 
this  blade.  We  won't  put  it  in  a  temple,  Red. 
We  won't!  We'll  go  and  conquer  a  kingdom  with 
it.  Gee!  it  was  made  for  conquerors,  not  for  greasy 
pilgrims  to  maul  with  their  sweaty  fingers." 

We  thought  the  same  as  Chico.  That  blade 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  built  for  hands  that  were  as 
sinewy  and  powerful  as  those  of  Tamerlane  and 
Akbar.  Every  time  we  looked  at  it  we  seemed  to 
see  bearded  chieftains  swinging  it  at  the  head  of 
squadrons  that  made  the  earth  tremble. 


THE  CHALLENGE  181 

A  silence  fell  on  us  as  we  sat  and  waited,  a  silence 
that  seemed  to  be  brought  about  by  the  stillness 
of  the  village.  It  seemed  as  if  the  people  of  the 
Spotted  Panther  had  overslept  themselves  after 
the  excitement  of  the  night,  and  we  waited  anxiously 
for  some  action  that  would  tell  us  what  they  intended 
to  do.  It  was  hardly  possible  that  they  would 
let  the  happenings  at  the  cave  pass  without  investi 
gation,  and  we  stroked  the  Great  Sword  and  waited 
for  the  moment  to  arrive.  Chico  was  right  about 
the  strength  that  one  derived  from  the  beautiful 
blade.  When  one  touched  it  with  the  fingers  a 
flood  of  courage  seemed  to  flow  from  it,  and  the 
muscles  of  the  arms  grew  tense  as  if  they  responded 
to  a  call  which  the  Sword  had  given.  It  wanted  a 
conqueror  to  swing  it,  a  conqueror  whose  muscular 
hand  would  press  against  the  gold  cobra  whose 
hooded  head  bit  at  the  emerald. 

"The  blood  of  the  White  Mias  is  the  only  stain  on 
it,"  said  Templeton. 

"And  the  blood  of  my  finger,"  added  Chico. 
"It  saved  my  life  for  a  start.  I  wouldn't  have  had 
the  strength  to  get  my  knife  out  of  its  sheath." 

I  made  a  movement  to  wipe  the  bloodstains 
from  the  shining  blade,  but  Templeton  stopped  me. 
"Leave  them  on  it,"  he  said.  "It  has  been  so 
long  without  blood  that  it  must  be  thirsty  for  it. 


1 82  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

I'm  thirsty,  too.  I'd  give  anything  for  a  quart  of 
water." 

"Nao  might  locate  us  after  a  while,"  murmured 

Chico  hopefully.  "  She'll  be  looking  for •  Here 

they  come!" 

Morgan  didn't  see  the  crowd  when  he  spoke. 
He  only  heard  the  peculiar  cry  which  the  mob  had 
given  vent  to  when  they  followed  the  Panther  in 
their  efforts  to  allay  the  anger  of  the  aintus  which 
they  saw  expressed  in  the  Moon  of  Blood.  But 
that  strange  chant  was  enough  to  put  us  on  the 
alert.  It  was  a  chant  of  fear,  of  terror,  of  concen 
trated  awe,  and  we  understood  they  had  but  waited 
for  the  sunrise  to  make  an  investigation  of  the  cave. 

The  Panther  and  his  big  lieutenant  led  the  crouch 
ing,  whining  headhunters.  They  came  on  to  the 
clearing  with  heads  lowered,  bodies  inclined  for 
ward,  and  the  left  hand  of  each  placed  above  the 
eyes  as  if  to  shield  them  from  any  fearful  sight 
which  might  appear  suddenly  before  them.  Across 
the  green  space  they  streamed,  a  horde  of  greasy 
fiends,  the  Panther  leading  them  straight  for  the 
stone  slab  which  they  had  hurriedly  put  into  place 
when  they  fled  the  cave. 

"We're  in  for  it  now,"  growled  Chico.  "The 
big  fellow  has  convinced  them  that  there's  something 
more  than  spirits  in  the  cave." 


THE  CHALLENGE  183 

"It  seems  like  it,"  assented  Red.  "They'll 
find  the  sword  has  disappeared,  and  then  particular 
Sheol  will  break  out  around  this  neighbourhood." 

The  impending  trouble  weighed  upon  us  like 
a  heavy  hand.  We  had  recovered  the  sword, 
but  it  looked  as  if  all  our  work  would  be  in  vain. 
The  procession  that  filed  toward  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  made  us  realize  our  weakness,  and  Banjermassin 
seemed  to  be  a  million  miles  away. 

"They'll  find  the  passage,"  murmured  Chico. 

"  Sure  they'll  find  it,"  said  Red. 

"And  they'll  find  us." 

"We  can't  help  it,"  said  Templeton. 

"And  they'll  take  the  sword,"  muttered  Mor 
gan. 

"After  we've  lessened  the  population  of  their 
village,"  cried  Red.  "Let  them  come!" 

The  big  slab  was  moved  aside  by  two  hundred 
sinewy  hands,  and  into  the  cave  dashed  the  head- 
hunters.  The  chant  of  fear  became  louder  as  they 
came  closer  to  the  supposed  haunt  of  the  evil 
spirits,  and  we  waited  breathlessly  for  the  shout 
that  would  tell  of  the  disappearance  of  the  sword. 
And  that  shout  came.  It  rushed  out  of  the  cave 
like  a  projectile  of  sound,  and  the  jungle  echoed  with 
its  volume.  It  was  a  terrific  yell.  In  the  kampong 
the  women  and  men  took  up  the  cry  as  if  they  knew 


184  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

instinctively  the  news  that  it  carried,  then  it  died 
away  and  a  silence  fell  upon  the  mob. 

"Now  they  are  on  the  trail,"  muttered  Chico. 
"Look  out  that  none  of  them  sneaks  up  the  passage 
before  we  expect  them.  They  move  mighty  fast." 

Morgan  was  right  in  saying  that  they  were  on  the 
trail.  The  silence  that  followed  the  cry  of  anger 
told  us  that  the  fear  had  fled  from  the  investigators 
and  we  guessed  that  the  Spotted  Panther  had  con 
vinced  them  in  some  way  that  the  theft  of  the 
Great  Parong  was  the  work  of  human  enemies. 

"Perhaps  they  found  your  finger,  Chico," 
whispered  Red.  "Well,  we're  in  for  a  battle,  and 
may  the  Almighty  be  kind  to  us.  The  odds  are 
big  enough  to  earn  us  some  pity." 

The  women  and  old  men  were  now  pouring  on  to 
the  clearing,  and  in  the  packed  mob  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  Golden  One,  her  hands  pressed  tightly 
to  her  head  as  if  horrified  by  the  discovery.  Oc 
casionally  her  eyes  swept  the  cliff  as  if  she  suspected 
our  presence,  but  we  kept  back  from  the  entrance 
and  patiently  awaited  developments.  Fate  had 
been  good  to  us  from  the  moment  we  left  the  Barito 
River,  and  the  extraordinary  manner  in  which 
matters  had  shaped  themselves  for  our  benefit  had 
given  us  a  confidence  that  was  out  of  keeping  with 
the  situation.  We  thought  that  Destiny  had  booked 


THE  CHALLENGE  185 

us  to  bring  the  Great  Parong  back  to  the  waiting 
millions  of  the  Orient,  and  this  notion  became  so 
deep-rooted  that  we  felt  that  we  had  a  grievance 
against  Fortune  for  throwing  so  many  obstacles  in 
our  path. 

"Let  them  come,"  muttered  Morgan.  "Let 
them  all  come.  Old  men  and  old  women.  We've 
got  it,  and  victory  is  on  the  side  of  the  persons  who 
have  that  in  their  possession." 

I  suppose  it  was  the  peculiar  feeling  of  power, 
brought  to  one  by  the  ownership  of  the  weapon, 
that  was  responsible  for  the  wild  tales  that  were 
associated  with  it.  We  thought  of  fivescore  stories 
which  Gung  had  told  us  as  we  sat  and  watched  the 
surging  crowd  on  the  clearing,  and  I  know  that 
we  were  all  possessed  of  an  insane  feeling  that  we 
could  stampede  the  horde  if  we  rushed  down  the  cliff 
swinging  the  big  blade  above  our  heads.  Gung 
had  said  that  the  Rajputs  called  the  great  weapon, 
"The  Maker  of  War,"  and  as  we  sat  there  we  felt 
that  the  Rajputs  were  right.  It  was  a  maker 
of  war.  One  could  not  resist  the  inclination 
to  cut  and  thrust  when  one  gripped  the  great 
handle. 

Red  Templeton,  squatting  above  the  hole  in  the 
corner,  lifted  his  hand,  and  we  listened.  The 
Panther's  men  had  struck  the  trail.  From  the 


1 86  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

burrow  that  we  had  enlarged  came  smothered 
grunts  and  hoarse  cries  that  told  a  tale. 

"They're  coming,"  breathed  Templeton.  "  Glory 
be!  they're  coming!" 

His  hand  reached  out  for  the  big  parong,  but 
Chico's  went  in  the  same  direction. 

"Let  me!"  cried  Red. 

"But  I  want  to,"  said  Morgan.  "My  hands  are 
itching  to  make  a  stroke  with  it." 

"Go  ahead,  then!"  muttered  Templeton.  "Not 
a  downstroke,  man !  You  might  strike  the  rock  with 
it.  Swing  it  sideways,  and  I  hope  it's  the  Panther's 
head  you  swing  it  against." 

Chico  took  the  sword  and  crouched  upon  his 
knees.  His  shirt  had  been  torn  from  his  body  in 
the  passage,  and  he  looked  as  primitive  as  the 
Spotted  Panther  as  he  waited  for  the  first  head  to 
appear  above  the  floor.  We  were  not  civilized  men 
in  that  place.  The  poison  of  the  jungle  had  got 
into  us  and  the  veneer  of  civilization  had  been 
peeled  off. 

The  head  of  the  leading  pursuer  came  up  with  the 
sudden  jerk  of  a  jack-in-the-box,  and  Chico  struck. 
The  blade  took  the  headhunter  in  his  thick  neck,  and 
Morgan  gave  a  chuckle  of  delight. 

But  the  sudden  halt  of  the  leader  did  not  daunt 
those  in  the  rear.  The  headless  body  was  pushed 


THE  CHALLENGE  187 

up  and  up  by  the  savages  who  were  following. 
Again  the  big  blade  swept  through  the  air,  but 
before  it  struck,  the  doomed  man  yelled  a  warning 
and  the  movement  from  below  stopped.  The 
second  body  was  drawn  back  into  the  passage,  and 
Chico  rose  from  his  knees. 

"They'll  come  from  the  front  now,"  he  said. 
"They've  hauled  number  two  back  to  see  what 
struck  him." 

The  three  of  us  moved  to  the  round  opening  in 
the  front  of  the  cave,  keeping  an  occasional  eye 
upon  the  hole  in  the  corner.  But  Chico  was  right 
in  stating  that  the  passage  through  the  floor  had 
lost  all  attraction  for  the  naked  warriors.  A  tre 
mendous  howl  of  rage  and  wonder  came  from  the 
cavern  in  which  the  Great  Parong  had  been  kept, 
and  the  packed  masses  in  the  clearing  were  thrown 
back  as  the  Panther  and  his  followers  rushed  into 
the  open. 

"May  Allah  be  good  to  us!"  muttered  Templeton. 
"Here  is  the  beginning  of  the  end." 

"If  either  of  us  survive  the  fight  remember  Nao," 
said  Chico.  "If  any  one  escapes  let  him  take  her 
and  give  her  a  share  in  the  sword  —  that  is,  if 
he  can  get  away  with  the  sword." 

A  thousand  pairs  of  eyes  were  upon  the  mouth 
of  our  cave  at  that  moment,  and  after  the  Panther 


1 88  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

had  spoken  a  few  words  that  we  could  not  under 
stand,  a  silence  spread  out  over  the  mob  like  a 
wave.  It  welled  out  to  the  rim  of  the  crowd  and 
choked  the  jabbering  upon  the  fringe. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Chico. 

"They  want  to  see  us,"  answered  Red.  "They're 
doubtful  if  we're  spirits  or  men." 

It  was  the  madness  that  gripped  Morgan  that 
made  him  act  as  he  did  at  that  moment.  He 
clutched  the  sword,  sprang  through  the  opening,  and 
standing  upon  the  little  ledge  in  front  of  the  cave 
held  the  big  bloodstained  blade  high  in  the  air. 
Body  o'  me!  what  a  sight  he  was!  He  was  bare 
to  the  waist  and  his  big  muscles  stood  out  like 
ropes  beneath  his  fair  skin.  And  in  the  blazing 
sunlight  of  the  tropic  morning  that  weapon  looked 
like  a  tongue  of  flame  that  licked  up  the  sunbeams 
that  rushed  toward  it.  You  would  picture  such 
a  man  and  such  a  blade  beneath  the  walls  of  Troy, 
and  as  I  looked  at  him  I  wondered  if  I  was  dreaming, 
and  if  the  trip  with  its  unbelievable  happenings 
was  not  the  creation  of  a  brain  crazed  by  jungle 
fever.  But  it  was  all  true.  Everything  around  us 
was  real.  The  sour  odour  of  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh 
came  to  our  nostrils,  the  old,  old  smell  of  the  jungle 
penetrated  our  subconscious  minds  and  made  us 
one  with  our  ancestors  who  fought  the  mammoth 


THE  CHALLENGE  189 

when  the  crystalline  rocks  of  Cape  Comorin  were 
new. 

"Look  out  for  the  blowpipes!"  cried  Templeton. 

"Let  them  come!"  roared  Chico.  "I'm  not 
afraid  of  them!" 

Red  and  I  knew  that  he  was  not  boasting.  There 
wasn't  a  boast  in  Chico  Morgan.  The  sword  had 
intoxicated  him,  and  he  would  have  faced  a  thousand 
with  it  in  his  hands. 

A  warrior  standing  near  the  Panther  lifted  his 
deadly  blowpipe  to  send  a  dart,  but  the  masked 
chief  dashed  down  the  blowpipe  as  a  cry  went  up 
from  the  crowd. 

11  Aintu!  Aintu!"  they  yelled,  and  the  word 
was  followed  by  cries  of  fear  as  Chico  moved  the 
blade  slowly  from  side  to  side. 

"What  has  bitten  them,  Red?"  asked  Morgan. 
"What  are  they  saying?" 

Templeton  strained  his  ears  to  catch  the  words 
that  were  repeated  over  and  over  again;  then  in 
a  lull  of  the  shouting,  the  words  came  to  us  in  a 
different  tongue  but  in  a  voice  we  knew.  It  was 
the  voice  of  the  Golden  One,  and  it  was  evident 
that  she  had  shouted  the  message  for  our  benefit. 

"They  think  we're  spirits!"  cried  Templeton,  trans 
lating  the  warning  shout.  "There  is  blood  upon  the 
Great  Sword,  and  only  a  spirit  could  put  it  there!" 


190  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Chico  lowered  the  blade,  placed  the  point  of  it 
upon  the  rock  and  rested  _his  chin  upon  the  emerald 
handle. 

"We've  got  to  keep  the  stunt  up,"  he  said.  "And 
you've  got  to  fan  a  belief  mighty  hard  to  keep  it 
going.  Come  out  and  stand  alongside  me." 

Red  and  I  climbed  out  of  the  cave  and  stood  beside 
Chico,  and  in  a  silence  that  seemed  to  put  every 
nerve  in  our  bodies  upon  a  tension,  we  looked  down 
at  the  mob  in  the  clearing.  We  could  not  guess 
their  thoughts  at  that  moment.  Their  mouths, 
smeared  with  the  juice  of  the  betel  nut,  were  wide 
open,  their  eyes  showing  the  terror  which  gripped 
them  as  they  stared  at  Morgan  standing  upon 
the  rocky  ledge  in  front  of  our  little  cave. 

"What's  the  next  move?"  asked  Chico. 

Templeton  fingered  his  rifle  and  looked  at  the 
masked  face  of  the  Panther.  The  big  brute  and 
his  lieutenant  had  worked  their  way  to  the  front  of 
the  mob,  and  now  stood  regarding  us  from  a  spot 
that  was  less  than  twenty  yards  from  the  point 
where  we  were  standing. 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  do,"  answered  Red. 
"Personally  I'd  like  to  engage  the  best  guide  in  the 
camp  and  lead  the  retreat  across  the  morass." 

"We'll  have  to  wait  for  the  darkness  to  get  away," 
said  Chico.  "They'd  never  let  us  get  clear  with 


THE  CHALLENGE  191 

it  in  the  daylight.  You  must  think  of  something 
that  will  keep  our  heads  on  our  shoulders  till  the 
night  falls.  Something  that  will  astonish  them." 

"I  could  drill  a  hole  in  the  Panther,"  whispered 
Templeton.  "And  I'm  wondering  if  it  wouldn't  be 
a  good  idea.  The  brute  doesn't  look  as  much  im 
pressed  as  the  rest  of  them!" 

There  was  a  ripple  in  the  middle  of  the  crowd 
at  that  moment,  the  men  and  women  were  brushed 
aside,  and  out  from  the  oily  mob  came  a  hag  who 
seemed  as  old  as  the  jungle  itself.  She  looked  as 
if  she  had  started  with  the  world  and  grown  up 
with  it.  When  we  looked  at  the  lines  in  her  face 
and  the  little  black  eyes  that  glanced  up  at  us, 
our  thoughts  were  of  glacial  epochs,  fossils,  stone 
hatchets,  mastodons,  and  other  things  that  were 
around  when  the  world  was  young.  She  was  the 
original  Old  Woman  of  the  Mountain  who  had 
hooked  herself  on  to  the  centuries  and  refused  to 
be  shaken  off.  By  the  bones  of  Methuselah!  she 
was  old. 

The  hag  started  in  to  talk  to  us,  speaking  in  a 
thin,  whining  voice  that  went  through  the  air  like 
a  wire.  There  wasn't  a  sound  from  the  crowd. 
They  stood  with  open  mouths  and  listened, 
and  Chico  and  I  glanced  at  Red  and  wondered 
stupidly  if  his  knowledge  of  the  Dyak  tongue  al- 


192  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

lowed  him  to  get  a  grasp  upon  the  sermon  she  was 
delivering. 

"Do  you  understand  any  of  it?"  asked  Chico. 

"A  word  here  and  there,"  answered  Templeton. 
"We  have  been  expected  for  years  and  years,  so 
she  says.  There's  some  prophecy  at  the  back  of  it. 
I  don't  know  what  it  all  means.  If  we're  spirits, 
as  they  think  we  are,  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  are 
going  to  close  up,  according  to  her  tale." 

"I  hope  they  do,"  said  Chico  fervently.  "We'll 
get  a  better  run  for  home  if  that  blamed  place  is 
filled  in." 

The  hag  continued  without  a  pause,  and  the 
hot  sun  beat  down  upon  our  bare  shoulders  till 
we  inwardly  damned  her  eloquence.  She  was  the 
greatest  female  orator  we  had  ever  heard  of.  That 
speech  must  have  been  packed  away  in  her  head 
for  a  century,  and  she  had  been  praying  daily  for 
an  opportunity  to  unloose  it. 

She  finished  at  last,  and  Red  Templeton  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief.  "We're  safe,"  he  said.  "The 
hag  is  certain  that  we  are  the  three  mentioned  in 
the  prophecy.  You,  Morgan,  are  the  particular 
bright  star  that  will  wave  your  hand  over  the 
Mouths  of  Boorsh  and  make  the  place  as  flat  and 
as  solid  as  a  billiard  table." 

The  old  woman  was  swallowed  up  in  the  crowd, 


.THE  CHALLENGE  193 

and  we  waited  for  the  next  turn  on  the  programme. 
If  the  belief  expressed  by  her  was  general,  we  were 
in  luck.  If  we  could  communicate  with  Nao  during 
the  day  we  could  arrange  to  steal  away  when  night 
fell  upon  the  village,  and  we  would  be  miles  on  our 
way  to  the  Barito  before  dawn. 

"But  what  are  we  to  do  now?"  asked  Chico. 
"Do  they  feed  spirits?  I'd  give  a  lot  for  a  plate 
of  rice  and  a  gallon  of  water." 

"They  might  tell  us  what  the  next  item  is," 
said  Templeton.  "Look,  the  Panther  is  going  to 
speak  to  us."  ""., 

The  big  masked  brute  walked  to  the  spot  where 
the  hag  had  stood,  gripped  the  handle  of  his  kris 
with  his  right  hand,  and  started  to  speak  slowly. 
That  giant  had  the  deepest  voice  we  had  ever 
heard.  It  boomed  through  the  hot  air  like  the 
heavy  bass  of  a  monster  organ.  For  over  three 
minutes  the  deep  voice  belaboured  our  ears  like  a 
flail  of  sound,  and  we  were  rather  pleased  when  he 
stopped  speaking. 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Chico. 

"I  couldn't  understand  him,"  replied  Templeton. 
"I'm  going  to  speak  to  him  in  Portuguese.  He'll 
get  Nao  to  translate,  and  we'll  have  a  chance  to 
say  a  word  to  her." 

Red  had  a  mighty  strong  voice,  too.     When  he 


194  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

spoke  you  could  hear  him  half  a  mile  away,  and  his 

words  caused  a  bit  of  a  sensation.     The  Panther 

p 

roared  out  an  order,  and  next  moment  the  Golden 
One  was  thrust  through  the  crowd  till  she  reached 
the  side  of  the  masked  leader.  She  looked  sweeter 
than  ever  at  that  moment.  Her  eyes  were  lit  up 
with  excitement,  and  the  masses  of  black  hair  were 
crowned  with  a  wreath  of  tiny  white  flowers  that 
gave  her  the  air  of  a  princess.  She  made  no  sign 
that  she  recognized  us,  and  we  preserved  the  same 
attitude. 

The  Panther  repeated  his  remarks  and  she  trans 
lated  them  into  Portuguese,  speaking  clearly  and 
without  nervousness. 

"The  big  brute  doubts  us,"  whispered  Red. 
"He  doesn't  believe  in  the  old  woman's  story." 

" Well,  what  will  he  do ? "  asked  Chico.  "I'd  fight 
him  if  I  could  get  a  meal  for  licking  him." 

The  Panther  was  speaking  again,  and  Templeton 
listened  as  Nao  translated. 

"You  're  going  to  get  your  wish  quick  and  sud 
den,"  said  Red  as  the  girl  finished  speaking.  "The 
big  savage  issues  a  challenge  to  a  fight  without 
weapons.  He  says  if  we  really  are  spirits  that  the 
one  of  our  number  that  fights  him  will  surely  kill 
him.  If  we  are  not  spirits  he  will  surely  kill  his 
opponent." 


THE  CHALLENGE  195 

"I'll  fight  him,"  said  Chico  quietly.  "Tell  the 
girl  to  tell  him  so." 

"But  you  don't  own  the  sword,"  protested  Red. 

"I  hold  it,"  snapped  Morgan.  "Let  me  fight 
him !  I'm  sure  that  I  can  win ! " 

Templeton  pushed  me  to  the  rear  and  stood  beside 
Chico.  "By  the  Spear  of  Siva!  he  shall  have  his 
pick!"  he  said.  "It  would  be  the  safest  plan  to 
send  a  bullet  through  the  brute,  but  as  he's  sport 
enough  to  put  weapons  aside,  we're  not  going  to 
back  down!" 

Templeton  spoke  quickly  to  Nao,  and  with  a 
look  of  terror  in  her  big  eyes  the  girl  translated 
to  the  Panther. 

The  savage  seemed  to  grow  bigger  as  he  received 
that  message.  He  straightened  himself  till  he  stood 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  biggest  of  his  fol 
lowers.  And  he  looked  the  very  incarnation  of 
strength.  Fear  of  him  came  upon  me  as  his  eyes 
measured  the  two  white  men  standing  up  un 
flinchingly  on  the  rocky  ledge,  and  I  protested  loudly 
against  the  proposition.  I  was  a  craven  at  that 
moment. 

"Don't  fight  him!"  I  cried.  "I'll  send  a  bullet 
into  him!  Don't!  Don't!" 

I  lifted  the  revolver,  but  Templeton  wrenched 
it  from  my  hand.  "He  has  barred  out  weapons," 


196  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

he  said  quietly.  "Let  him  have  a  chance.  Keep 
quiet,  Lenford.  We'll  beat  him." 

I  believe  the  Panther  smiled  beneath  the  bark- 
cloth  mask  that  covered  his  face  and  neck  as  he 
noted  my  action.  For  a  full  minute  he  examined 
the  two  men,  his  eyes  noting  both  closely,  then  he 
told  his  decision  to  the  Golden  One.  Templeton 
and  I  knew  which  one  he  had  picked.  The  girl's 
face  was  as  white  as  snow  and  she  wet  her  lips  in  an 
effort  to  repeat  his  words.  Three  times  she  essayed 
to  speak,  and  three  times  words  failed  her,  then  the 
Panther  decided  to  take  the  matter  of  acquainting 
us  in  his  own  hands.  Striding  halfway  up  the  slope 
he  seized  a  pebble,  which  he  tossed  with  such  ac 
curacy  that  it  struck  Chico  in  the  chest,  and  he 
nodded  his  head  to  show  that  Morgan  was  the  one 
he  chose  to  measure  his  strength  against. 

Chico  flushed  as  the  pebble  struck  him,  and  his 
eyes  blazed.  "I'll  kill  him  for  that,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Take  the  sword,  Templeton.  I'm  glad  —  mighty 
glad  that  he  has  chosen  me." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    GREAT   FIGHT 

NOW  as  I  start  to  describe  the  fight  of 
fights  when  Chico  Morgan  battled  with 
the  Spotted  Panther  on  that  memorable 
morning,  I  feel  again  the  thousand  and  one  thrills 
which  came  to  me  after  the  pebble  had  been 
thrown.  Chico  was  my  friend.  He  had  been  my 
shipmate  for  seven  years.  Together  we  had  ploughed 
the  seven  seas  and  sat  in  the  camps  of  the  rim. 
Furthermore,  and  that  knowledge  stirred  me  more 
than  anything  as  I  followed  him  down  the  little 
path  to  the  packed  clearing,  he  was  an  American. 
I  should  have  been  jealous  if  Red  Templeton  had 
been  selected.  It  may  seem  petty  of  me  to  make 
such  an  assertion,  but  although  I  had  a  fear  that  the 
Spotted  Panther  would  prove  too  much  for  Morgan, 
still  I  was  glad  that  the  prestige  of  the  white  race 
was  to  be  upheld  by  one  who  came  from  my  own 
land. 

"We  must  get  some  food,"   said  Red.      "You 
cannot  fight  in  the  condition  you  are  in.     Let  me 

197 


198  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

make  a  postponement,  Morgan.  You've  had  no 
rest  and  no  food." 

Chico  shook  his  head.  "I'll  never  be  in  better 
mood  to  fight  than  I  am  now,"  he  said.  "I  couldn't 
eat  any  food  just  now.  I  want  to  moisten  my  lips, 
that's  all." 

The  Panther  had  shouted  to  the  crowd  as  we 
walked  down  the  stony  slope,  and  as  we  stepped  on  to 
the  clearing  the  mob  opened  to  receive  us.  We  had 
no  thought  of  treachery.  From  the  looks  of  wide- 
eyed  fear  which  the  crowd  bestowed  upon  us,  we 
knew  that  the  words  of  the  hag  had  made  a  great 
impression,  and  although  they  were  willing  to  watch 
the  impending  battle,  their  anxiety  was  for  the 
Panther,  who  they  were  convinced  was  going  to 
fight  a  spirit  that  had  entered  the  cave  of  the  sword 
while  the  big  stone  slab  was  still  in  place.  A  score 
or  more  were  so  impressed  with  the  danger  their  chief 
was  running  that  they  made  shrill  protestations, 
which  the  Panther  stopped  with  a  deep-throated 
order. 

As  we  came  close  to  the  big  savage  my  fears  for 
Chico  became  greater.  The  Dyak  was  a  mighty 
man.  Never  had  I  seen  a  man  of  such  muscular 
build.  He  was  a  brown  Hercules,  a  Hercules  with 
all  the  spring  and  elasticity  of  the  wild  man  in  his 
limbs.  Chico  seemed  slow  and  muscle-bound  com- 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT  199 

pared  with  him.  The  savage  had  never  worn  shoes, 
and  as  I  watched  his  feet  as  he  moved  across  the 
grass  I  thought  sadly  over  the  effect  which  a  pro 
longed  fight  upon  the  springy  turf  would  have  upon 
Morgan. 

"He's  a  devil!"  I  muttered  to Templeton. 

Red  looked  carefully  from  Chico  to  the  brown  man 
and  then  tucked  his  lips  in  as  if  the  conclusions 
troubled  him.  "He's  a  fine  brute,"  he  said  quietly. 
"The  most  magnificent  specimen  of  a  man  I  have 
ever  seen." 

I  fingered  the  revolver  which  I  had  received  back 
from  Templeton,  and  I  think  the  desire  to  shoot  the 
big  brown  man  shone  in  my  eyes  at  that  moment. 
I  felt  that  I  would  be  committing  a  murder  to  stop 
the  Panther  committing  one,  but  the  big  English 
man  guessed  my  intentions. 

"If  you  use  a  gun  I  will  kill  you  with  my  own 
hands,  Lenford,"  he  said  slowly.  "Morgan  will  beat 
him,  I  tell  you.  He  has  tradition  and  pride  of  race 
behind  him,  and  besides  —  besides,  you  simpleton, 
he  is  fighting  for  the  Sword." 

The  big  lieutenant  of  the  Panther  had  beaten  back 
the  crowd  till  there  was  a  clear  circle  in  the  middle  of 
the  clearing.  The  lieutenant  seemed  to  be  the  only 
one  who  exhibited  the  confidence  of  his  chief,  and 
his  broad  grin  annoyed  Templeton  while  Chico  was 


2OO  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

preparing  for  the  fray.  The"  Panther  had  no  prep 
arations  to  make.  He  was  naked  except  for  the 
loin  cloth  and  the  mask  that  covered  his  face. 

Morgan  took  off  his  shoes  and  rolled  up  the  legs 
of  the  soiled  khaki  trousers.  His  shirt  had  been 
torn  to  shreds  in  the  passage  between  the  big  cavern 
and  the  little  scooped-out  burrow  on  the  cliff.  I 
redressed  the  stump  of  the  finger,  Templeton  pro 
testing  angrily  that  the  injury  would  handicap 
Morgan,  and  asserting  that  the  Panther's  choice 
might  have  been  influenced  by  the  bloody  bandage. 

"Let  me  fight  him!"  cried  Red.  "Let  me  explain 
that  your  hand  is  injured." 

Chico  smiled  the  old  confident  smile  as  he  brushed 
the  fair  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  "Don't  worry, 
Templeton,"  he  said.  "I'll  be  going  strong  at  the 
finish.  If  he's  ready  to  start  the  skirmish,  I'm  his 
man." 

We  shall  be  a  poor  race  when  we  cannot  fight. 
Courage  is  one  of  the  greatest  virtues,  and  no  man 
born  had  greater  courage  than  Chico  Morgan.  I 
thrilled  from  head  to  toe  as  he  stepped  forward,  and 
I  know  that  Red  Templeton  felt  a  joy  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  he  had  picked  no  craven  as  a  mate  on  that 
night  in  Banjermassin.  We  knew  that  the  battle 
was  to  be  one  to  the  death.  If  Chico  could  not 
finish  the  Panther,  the  old  woman's  assertion  that 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT  201 

we  were  the  spirits  spoken  of  in  the  prophecy  would 
be  thrown  aside,  and  the  heads  of  Morgan,  Temple- 
ton,  and  myself  would  probably  adorn  the  walls  of 
the  chief's  house  in  the  kampong. 

"For  the  white  race  and  America,"  muttered  Red. 
"Keep  cool,  boy.  You'll  beat  him  every  inch  of 
the  way." 

That  Dyak  was  well  named  when  they  called  him 
the  Spotted  Panther.  As  Chico  Morgan  advanced 
to  the  centre  of  the  cleared  space,  the  savage  gave 
a  low  whine,  and  sprang.  It  was  a  wonderful  spring! 
He  shot  through  the  air  like  a  thunderbolt,  but  Chico 
wasn't  the  one  to  wait  for  a  human  cannon  ball  to 
knock  the  wind  out  of  him.  He  sidestepped  neatly, 
and  as  the  brown  man  whizzed  by,  Morgan  planted 
a  right  on  the  side  of  his  head  that  must  have  jarred 
every  nerve  in  his  gigantic  frame.  It  was  a  beauti 
ful  punch.  The  Panther  went  forward  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  but  he  bounded  to  his  feet  as  if  made  of 
india  rubber  and  he  flung  himself  with  marvellous 
suddenness  upon  the  white  man.  Chico  couldn't 
evade  that  leap.  He  thought  to  stop  the  rush  by 
landing  right  and  left  body  blows  as  the  Panther 
rushed,  but  the  blows  seemed  to  have  no  effect  upon 
the  savage.  He  broke  through  Morgan's  guard, 
and  his  huge  arms  went  around  Chico's  chest  like 
the  feelers  of  an  octopus. 


2O2  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

I  am  sure  that  those  savages  had  never  seen  a 
fight  like  that.  In  all  that  wild  stretch  of  jungle 
there  was  no  man  as  strong  as  the  Spotted  Panther, 
and  I  am  willing  to  wager  that  no  man,  white, 
brown,  or  black,  possessed  the  courage  that  was 
Morgan's.  Fear  was  an  unknown  quantity  to  that 
big  American.  He  had  implicit  confidence  in  him 
self,  a  confidence  that  had  been  bred  by  the  muscles 
of  steel  that  had  brought  him  victorious  out  of  a 
thousand  tight  corners  in  different  parts  of  the  world. 

The  great  Dyak  shifted  his  grip,  and  his  big  hands 
groped  for  Chico's  throat.  And  there  was  death  in 
those  hands.  The  fingers  of  steel  fascinated  Tem- 
pleton  and  me  as  we  stood  and  watched  with  bulging 
eyes.  Again  and  again  Morgan  broke  the  grip 
that  the  other  put  upon  him,  but  the  savage  was 
unrelenting.  His  fingers  were  hungry  for  the  throat 
of  the  white  man.  They  worked  toward  it  stealthily 
and  quietly,  and  the  smashing  blows  which  Chico 
rained  upon  him  could  not  turn  him  from  the  desire 
to  accomplish  the  trick  which  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind. 

"Tear  off  his  mask!"  cried  Templeton.  "Tear 
it  off  and  you'll  see  where  his  jaw  is!" 

Chico  broke  from  the  gorillalike  hug  of  the  Pan 
ther,  sidestepped  a  mad  rush,  and  clawed  the  bark- 
cloth  mask  from  the  face  of  the  Dyak  as  he  slipped 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT  203 

out  of  his  path.  Templeton  gave  a  cry  of  horror 
which  I  echoed.  We  had  no  idea  as  to  what  Chico 
would  expose  when  he  tore  away  the  mask.  We 
thought  that  the  big  fiend  had  worn  the  covering  to 
add  a  touch  of  mystery  to  his  person,  but  when 
Morgan  acted  upon  Templeton's  advice  we  knew 
differently.  By  the  Beard  of  Mahomet!  Yes! 
The  face  that  the  Panther  turned  upon  Chico  was 
the  face  of  a  silver  leper,  and  if  ever  the  face  of  a 
devil  was  seen  upon  earth  it  was  the  one  we  saw  then ! 

We  knew  that  his  people  had  never  seen  the  marks 
of  the  disease.  The  whimper  of  astonishment  that 
came  from  the  lips  of  the  packed  hundreds  told  us 
that  they  were  as  much  astonished  as  we  were. 
We  were  certain  that  they  had  never  looked  upon 
that  face  of  horror.  They  moaned  and  whimpered 
in  fear  and  wonder,  the  women  turning  away  from 
the  fiendish,  disease-marked  face  that  was  con 
fronting  Morgan. 

Curiously,  the  terrible  markings  had  not  extended 
to  the  neck  and  body.  Not  a  single  spot  showed 
upon  the  muscular  column  that  supported  the  head, 
and  we  stared  at  the  freak  in  amazement.  It  was 
the  strangest  manifestation  of  the  disease  that  we 
had  ever  seen. 

Chico  reeled  back  when  he  caught  the  first  glance 
of  the  terrible  face  he  had  uncovered.  For  a 


204  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

moment  I  had  a  feeling  that  the  horror  before  him 
would  make  him  turn  and  run,  but  I  was  measuring 
Morgan's  courage  with  my  own  bushel.  Satan  him 
self  couldn't  make  Chico  run.  That  fear-inspiring 
face  gave  him  a  momentary  qualm,  but  when  the 
Panther  rushed  upon  him  with  a  howl  of  fury  Mor 
gan  was  there  to  receive  him. 

"Hit  him  again,  Morgan!"  cried  Templeton. 
"Again!  Again!" 

With  magnificent  skill  Chico  planted  his  two  fists 
on  the  silvered  face,  and  the  force  with  which  those 
two  blows  went  home  told  us  the  brand  of  courage 
that  Morgan  was  carrying.  We  knew  there  was  no 
yellow  streak  in  his  make-up.  When  his  fists  landed 
solidly  upon  the  Panther's  face  I  felt  sick  at  the 
mere  thought  of  physical  contact  with  the  disease- 
ravaged  features,  but  if  we  could  judge  by  the  force 
which  Morgan  put  behind  those  punches  we  were 
certain  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  hit.  And  Chico 
had  only  a  few  seconds  to  steel  his  nerves  to  the  sight 
of  that  face.  The  suddenness  with  which  the 
spectacle  had  been  brought  before  him  was  enough 
to  upset  the  balance  of  any  ordinary  man,  but 
Morgan  was  not  an  ordinary  man.  He  was  a 
fighting  machine  of  wonderful  thews  and  courage, 
and  the  big  Dyak  found  that  out  before  that  fight 
was  over. 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT  205 

The  Panther,  although  insane  with  passion  at 
finding  that  his  mask  had  been  torn  away,  realized 
what  a  shock  the  sight  of  his  face  would  be  to  Morgan 
and  he  rushed  in  to  take  advantage  of  Chico's 
astonishment. 

"Look  out!!'  roared  Templeton.  "Smash  him, 
Chico!  That's  the  way!  Mind  his  grip,  boy! 
Keep  clear  of  him!" 

Chico  Morgan  was  a  wonderful  fighter.  When 
that  untamed  gorilla  came  flying  through  the  air  in 
an  endeavour  to  get  a  grip  upon  the  white  man, 
Chico  would  dodge  and  duck  in  a  manner  that  sur 
prised  us.  When  the  Panther's  long  arms  went  out 
like  the  muscular  limbs  of  the  simia  wurmbii,  or 
giant  orang-utan,  Chico  would  slip  away  from  them 
like  a  light-toed  dancing  master,  planting  his  fists 
upon  the  face  of  the  savage  as  he  floundered  after 
him.  That  silvered  face,  that  was  so  distorted  that 
it  resembled  the  face  of  a  Malayan  devil,  could  not 
frighten  the  American.  He  never  funked  the  on 
slaught.  Left  and  right  jabs,  swings,  and  uppercuts 
crashed  upon  the  Dyak's  face,  and  Templeton  and  I 
roared  applause  till  the  jungle  echoed.  The  big 
Englishman  was  nearly  crazy  with  excitement  as 
he  hopped  around  the  ring  and  encouraged  Chico  to 
greater  efforts. 

"Now  you've  got  him!"  he  roared,  as  the  Panther 


206  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

staggered  beneath  a  tornado  of  blows  that  Morgan 
delivered.  "In  the  eyes,  comrade!  Blind  him 
and  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  him !" 

And  Chico  was  blinding  the  Panther  effectively. 
The  Dyak  was  discovering  that  the  American  was  as 
slippery  as  an  eel,  and  Chico's  blows  were  fast  closing 
the  little  black  eyes  that  resembled  marbles  of  jade 
in  that  peculiar  silvered  face.  And  the  big  savage 
understood  that  victory  was  slipping  away  from  him 
at  that  moment.  He  was  becoming  tired,  and  the 
terrific  punching  that  Chico  had  administered  was 
beginning  to  tell. 

"Don't  let  up  on  him!"  yelled  Templeton. 
"Swing  in  the  right!  The  right!" 

Morgan  measured  the  giant  as  he  made  another 
blind  rush,  the  white  man's  big  fist  landed  squarely 
on  the  brown  man's  chin,  and  the  Spotted  Panther 
dropped  upon  the  grass. 

Red  opened  his  mouth  to  give  a  cry  of  triumph, 
but  the  cry  was  choked  back.  The  big  lieutenant 
of  the  Dyak  chief  had  sprung  toward  Chico  with  an 
uplifted  kris  in  his  right  hand,  and  Templeton  acted 
with  a  swiftness  that  was  extraordinary.  The  Great 
Parong  of  Buddha  flashed  in  the  sunlight,  it  fell  like 
a  flame  upon  the  murderous  savage,  and  the  lieu 
tenant  dropped  upon  his  knees,  his  head  split  from 
crown  to  chin. 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT  207 

It  was  at  that  moment  I  noticed  Nao  for  the  first 
time  since  the  start  of  the  battle.  She  worked  her 
way  through  the  crowd  that  seemed  to  be  stricken 
dumb  by  the  happenings,  and  clasping  Templeton 
by  the  arm,  she  spoke  to  him  rapidly. 

"She's  right!"  cried  Red.  "Don't  let  him  up, 
Morgan!  Kill  him!" 

Chico  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face  as  he 
stood  with  legs  apart  waiting  for  the  big  savage  to 
get  upon  his  feet. 

"Kill  him!"  I  screamed.  "There  are  no  rules! 
Kill  him!" 

Morgan  smiled  faintly  as  he  heard  our  shouts,  but 
he  made  no  move  toward  the  fallen  Panther.  There 
were  no  rules  to  that  battle,  but  Chico  could  not 
bring  himself  to  strike  an  antagonist  on  the  ground. 
With  the  eyes  of  the  mob  upon  him  he  stood  with 
legs  apart,  swaying  slowly  backward  and  forward, 
ready  to  carry  on  the  fight  when  the  big  Dyak  got 
to  his  feet. 

The  Panther  rose  slowly.  For  quite  two  minutes 
he  crouched  upon  his  hams,  then  he  hurled  himself 
upon  Chico.  The  impact  knocked  Morgan  to  the 
ground,  and  as  the  crowd  surged  in  upon  the  cleared 
space,  the  two  fought  and  writhed  upon  the  grass, 
each  trying  for  a  grip  upon  the  throat  of  the  other. 
Red  swung  the  Great  Sword  to  clear  a  circle,  and 


2o8  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

the  wild-eyed  mob  sprang  back  from  its  touch.  To 
them  it  was  a  sacred  thing  that  must  not  be  brought 
into  contact  with  common  clay. 

The  two  on  the  ground  thrashed  about  like  a  pair 
of  huge  pythons.  Over  and  over  they  rolled,  the 
ringers  of  each  groping  blindly  for  a  throat  grip,  and 
in  a  silence  that  was  more  terrible  than  the  noise 
made  by  the  bull-roarer,  we  stood  and  watched  them. 

Slowly  the  Panther  wormed  himself  uppermost, 
and  the  fingers  of  steel  foraged  for  Chico's  throat. 
Red  Templeton  cursed  softly  as  he  leaned  forward. 
In  the  strained  faces  of  the  Dyaks  we  saw  the  effect 
of  the  advantage  which  their  chief  had  gained.  They 
knew  the  strength  that  lay  in  those  fingers  and  as 
they  closed  upon  Chico's  neck  a  sigh  of  wonder  and 
relief  went  up  from  the  crowd. 

Templeton,  his  big  jaw  thrust  out,  his  eyes  blazing, 
hung  above  the  two,  while  the  fingers  of  the  Panther 
slowly  throttled  the  life  out  of  Morgan. 

"Chico!"  shrieked  Red.  "Give  him  the  knee! 
The  knee,  man!  Look!  Here's  the  sword!" 

I  believe  it  was  the  sight  of  the  Great  Parong  that 
worked  the  miracle.  I'm  sure  it  was.  Red  thrust 
the  handle  of  the  weapon  toward  Chico,  and  it 
seemed  to  fire  him.  We  knew  by  the  flash  in,  his 
eyes  that  he  was  going  to  make  a  supreme  effort. 
Slowly,  very  slowly,  he  worked  his  knees  up  beneath 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT  209 

the  stomach  of  the  Panther,  then  with  a  convulsive 
thrust  forward,  he  broke  the  death  grip,  rolled  com 
pletely  over  and  drove  his  fingers  deep  into  the  throat 
of  the  leprous  giant! 

"Hold  him,  you  bulldog!"  roared  Templeton. 
"Stick  to  him!  Don't  letup  on  him!" 

The  fight  was  over  then.  The  muscles  of  the 
Panther  relaxed,  his  mouth  opened,  and  his  mighty 
chest  collapsed.  Chico  unloosed  his  grip,  got  upon 
his  hands  and  knees,  lifted  himself  wearily  to  his 
feet,  then  reeled  forward  into  the  arms  of  Templeton 
and  the  Golden  One. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    PROPHETESS 

IT  SEEMED  to  us  that  the  inferno  was  unloosed 
following  the  defeat  of  the  Panther.     Whether 
the  hag's  sermon  regarding  our  identity  made  the 
crowd  crazy  to  touch  us,  or  whether  the  defeat  of  the 
chief  made  them  anxious  to  lay  their  hands  upon 
the  man  who  had  defeated  him,  we  could  not  tell, 
but  the  packed  mass  upon  the  clearing  swarmed  in 
upon  us,  their  hands  outstretched,  their    mouths 
open  as  they  made  a  peculiar  noise  that  was  not 
unlike  the  sound  they  produced  when  the  Great 
Sword  was  paraded  on  the  night  of  the  Bloody  Moon. 
"They'll  smother  Morgan!"  I  cried.     "Keep  them 
back  and  give  him  air!" 

Templeton  lowered  Chico  to  the  ground,  seized 
the  Great  Parong  and  struck  with  the  flat  of  the 
blade  at  the  clawing  forms  that  swept  in  upon  us. 
The  hag,  who  was  older  than  the  ruins  of  Pnom 
Preen,  had  climbed  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  massed 
savages,  and  her  thin  voice  could  be  heard  above  the 
cries  of  all  the  others.  It  was  her  hour  of  triumph. 

2IO 


THE  PROPHETESS  211 

She  had  told  the  Panther  that  we  were  spirits,  and 
now  that  Chico  had  defeated  the  brown  chief  she 
was  thrusting  herself  in  the  spotlight  with  all  the 
power  at  her  command. 

The  mob  fell  back  before  the  sword,  and  Nao 
spoke  rapidly  to  Red. 

"Where  will  we  take  him?"  I  asked. 

"Nao  thinks  the  cave  is  the  best,"  said  Tem- 
pleton.  "  It  is  safer  in  case  of  trouble.  Besides,  it's 
considered  the  abode  of  spirits,  so  we'll  be  let  alone." 

"How  will  we  get  him  there?"  I  asked. 

"Hold  the  sword!"  cried  Templeton.  "Hit  them 
back,  Lenford!  Hit  them  back!" 

I  could  barely  lift  the  weapon  with  the  strength 
of  my  two  hands,  but  the  mere  movement  of  the 
blade  made  the  terrified  savages  fall  back.  Tem 
pleton  stooped  down,  put  his  tremendous  arms 
around  the  unconscious  Chico,  and  lifted  him  to  his 
shoulders. 

"To  the  cave,  Lenford!"  he  roared.  "Knock 
them  back!  Swing  it,  man!  Swing  it!" 

I  look  back  and  wonder  at  that  day.  The  place 
was  an  inferno.  That  old  Jezebel  ran  along  upon 
the  shoulders  of  the  mob,  and  she  screamed  orders 
at  us  that  made  my  blood  run  cold,  although  I  could 
hardly  understand  a  word  that  she  was  saying. 

"What's  wrong  with  her?"  cried  Templeton. 


212  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Ask  Nao!"  I  roared. 

Red,  striding  forward  with  as  much  unconcern  as 
if  Chico  were  a  baby,  put  the  question  to  the  Golden 
One  and  then  translated  her  answer. 

"She  wants  us  to  go  and  work  the  magic  of  closing 
up  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh,"  he  explained.  "A 
human  sacrifice  is  necessary,  and  they've  got  some 
one  for  the  job." 

"I  hope  Chico  is  well  enough  to  bolt  with  us  to 
night,"  I  said.  "Another  twenty-four  hours  in  this 
place  will  send  me  insane." 

We  reached  the  opening  of  the  little  cave,  and 
Templeton  lowered  Chico  and  carried  him  inside. 
Nao  had  managed  to  secure  a  bamboo  notch  full  of 
cold  water,  and  while  I  swung  the  sword  to  keep  the 
horde  from  the  ledge  in  front  of  the  refuge,  Tem 
pleton  and  the  Golden  One  bathed  Morgan's  face 
with  the  cold  water. 

"He's  coming  round!"  shouted  Red.  "Keep 
them  back!  He'll  be  right  in  a  few  minutes!" 

I  stooped  for  a  moment  to  get  confirmation  of  the 
good  news,  and  as  I  peered  into  the  place,  Chico's 
lids  flickered  and  he  looked  up.  For  a  moment  he 
stared  at  us  stupidly,  as  if  the  recollection  of  the 
fight  had  been  swept  from  his  mind,  then  a  look  of 
horror  flashed  into  his  blue  eyes  and  he  made  an 
effort  to  speak. 


It 


THE  PROPHETESS  213 

:What  is  it?"  asked  Templeton. 
;Is  he  —  is  he  dead?"  he  gasped. 
;I  think  so,"  answered  Red. 

"Make    sure,"    gurgled    Chico.     "Make    sure! 
Kill  him!     He's  the  fiend  himself!" 

It  was  curious  how  we  overlooked  the  Panther  in 
the  mad  wind-up  of  that  battle  royal.  The  con 
dition  of  Chico,  and  the  stampede  of  the  crowd, 
had  thrust  him  momentarily  from  our  mind,  and 
it  was  only  Morgan's  imploring  cry  that  made  us 
recognize  our  ignorance  regarding  the  outcome. 

Templeton  looked  up  at  me  when  he  saw  the  fear 
in  Chico's  eyes.  "Run  back,  Lenford!  Drive  the 
Big  Sword  into  him  if Here  let  me  go!" 

Red  seized  the  sword,  and  swinging  it  above  his 
head,  charged  madly  down  the  slope.  The  hag  was 
still  calling  upon  us  to  come  and  perform  our  mission 
of  closing  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh,  while  the  mob  was 
helping  her  out  in  a  refrain  which  she  put  at  the  end 
of  her  shrill  appeals.  The  clearing  was  a  sea  of 
brown  faces  all  turned  toward  the  opening  of  the  cave. 

Templeton  reached  the  spot  where  the  battle  had 
taken  place,  turned  and  sprang  back  up  the  rocky 
slope. 

"They've  carried  him  away!"  he  cried.  "Keep  a 
sharp  lookout!  If  he  is  alive  we'll  have  trouble  by 
the  bucketful!" 


214  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Chico  groaned  when  Templeton  gave  him  the 
news,  and  the  light  of  terror  flashed  again  into  his 
eyes.  The  battle  with  the  primitive  brute  had 
unnerved  him,  and  he  watched  the  opening  of  the 
cave  as  if  he  expected  the  Panther  to  leap  in  upon  us. 

"Don't  worry  about  him!"  cried  Templeton.  "If 
he's  alive  he  won't  be  able  to  get  about  for  a  day  or 
two.  But  I  don't  think  he  is  alive.  You " 

"He  is  alive,"  interrupted  Chico.  "I  feel  that 
he's  alive,  Templeton!  And  he  can  recover  from 
that  fight  in  one  tenth  the  time  you  or  I  would  take. 
Watch  for  him!  Watch  for  him!" 

"We'll  watch,"  said  Red.  "Keep  quiet  and  rest 
yourself." 

Nao  brought  a  preparation  made  from  crocodile 
fat  and  extract  of  gum  leaves  and  we  rubbed  this 
over  Morgan's  body.  The  marks  of  the  Panther's 
claws  were  everywhere.  If  the  big  fiend  lacked  the 
science  to  make  his  punches  effective  he  did  not  lack 
the  strength  to  leave  his  fingermarks  where  he  took 
a  grip.  Chico  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  had 
been  mauled  by  a  bear,  and  Templeton  cursed  softly 
as  he  rubbed  in  the  liniment. 

"He's  a  gorilla,"  he  growled.  "We  were  mad 
to  accept  his  offer." 

"He's  a  devil,"  muttered  Chico.  "Keep  a  watch 
for  him,  Lenford,  If  you  see  him  coming,  get  me 


THE  PROPHETESS  215 

on  my  feet  and  give  me  a  gun.  Put  that  revolver 
here  within  reach." 

We  placed  Morgan  upon  a  bed  of  leaves  that  a 
few  young  Dyaks  had  gathered  by  Nao's  orders,  and 
the  girl  sat  down  beside  him  and  fed  him  with  rice 
water.  The  Golden  One  had  evidently  thrown  her 
lot  in  with  ours  since  the  fight,  and  she  tried  to  do 
all  she  could  for  the  battered  Chico.  Outside  on  the 
clearing  the  mob  was  still  howling,  while  the  ancient 
hag  was  imploring  us  with  extended  arms  to  fulfill 
the  prophecy  regarding  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh. 

"Holy  St.  Michael!  what  will  be  the  end  of  it  all?" 
gasped  Templeton.  "Have  they  all  gone  crazy?" 

Red  lifted  up  the  Great  Sword,  thinking  it  might 
silence  them,  but  the  action  only  increased  the  up 
roar.  The  hag  had  worked  them  up  to  an  insane 
pitch  with  her  talk  about  the  prophecy,  and  nothing 
would  silence  them.  They  were  firmly  convinced 
that  we  were  not  ordinary  mortals.  No  man  in  their 
recollection  had  ever  fought  the  Spotted  Panther 
single-handed  and  remained  alive  to  tell  the  story, 
so  Chico's  achievement  had  stamped  the  prophecy 
of  the  old  crone  with  the  hallmark  of  truth. 

The  Golden  One,  wild-eyed  and  nervous,  came 
out  of  the  cave,  and  Templeton  asked  her  to  trans 
late  the  words  ,of  the  whining  hag.  The  girl  did  so, 
and  Red  turned  her  words  into  English  for  my  bene- 


2i6  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

fit.  I  think  the  real  poison  of  that  place  began  to 
seep  into  our  bodies  just  then.  I  know  that  I  was 
more  afraid  as  I  listened  to  the  words  of  the.  ancient 
hag  then  I  had  ever  been  before.  The  surroundings 
were  destroying  the  bonds  that  bound  us  to  civiliza 
tion.  We  had  a  fear  that  something  inside  our  heads 
would  give  way,  and  that  we  would  go  down  and 
howl  with  the  mob.  The  hands  of  the  jungle  were 
reaching  out  for  us.  The  smells  of  the  jungle  were 
diving  into  our  brains  and  dragging  out  the  desires 
of  dead  ancestors  who  fought  with  the  dinosaur  and 
the  glyptodon,  and  the  skin  of  our  necks  prickled 
with  the  fear  of  the  unseen. 

"This  is  what  she  says,"  cried  Templeton.  "Come 
and  close  the  mouths  that  are  ever  hungry!  The 
mouths  that  wait  for  food!  The  mouths  that  cry 
in  the  nights  when  nothing  comes  to  them.  Close 
them!  We  hear  them  in  the  darkness  crying  for  our 
men  and  women.  Their  lips  move  as  we  pass  by. 
They  reach  out  and  swallow  our  brave  ones. 
Close  them!  Close  them!  The  sacrifice  is  ready, 
why  do  you  wait?" 

That  old  hag  must  have  cried  that  out  in  a  tongue 
that  our  ancestors  used  ten  thousand  years  before. 
I'm  sure  she  must  have.  As  Red  translated  it  to  me 
I  seemed  to  grope  into  my  mind  and  dig  out  the 
very  words  she  was  using.  We  were  in  a  backwater 


THE  PROPHETESS  217 

of  the  world  where  nothing  moved,  and  where  the 
tongues  of  ten  thousand  generations  had  cried 
aloud  the  supplication  made  by  the  hag  with  the 
eyes  that  belonged  to  the  Stone  Age. 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  I  asked. 

"Sit  down  and  wait,"  answered  Templeton. 
"I'd  be  a  darn  big  failure  if  I  tried  to  turn  a  morass 
into  solid  land.  That's  a  job  that  is  outside  my  line 
of  business." 

"Can't  we  do  something  to  quiet  them?" 

"Nothing  will  quiet  them,"  snapped  Templeton. 
"That  old  witch  has  driven  them  insane." 

The  hag  turned  her  back  upon  us  and  screamed  to 
the  crowd,  and  a  score  of  men  immediately  detached 
themselves  from  the  packed  mass  and  disappeared  in 
the  strip  of  thick  undergrowth  that  separated  the 
clearing  from  the  kampong. 

"Ask  the  Golden  One  the  meaning  of  it!"  I  cried. 
"Where  have  they  gone?" 

Templeton  put  the  question,  and  turned  to  me 
with  a  grim  smile  upon  his  face.  "We'll  have  to 
work  up  an  excuse  of  some  sort,"  he  said.  "She 
has  sent  them  to  bring  the  sacrifice  out  for  our  in 
spection.  Nao  thinks  that  there  is  danger  in  their 
present  attitude  unless  we  can  do  something  to  cool 
them  off." 

"We  might  object  to  the  sacrifice."  I  muttered. 


2i 8  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"We  could  say  that  he  was  too  fat  or  too  thin 
according  to  how  he  looked.  If  we  got  three  or  four 
days'  grace  to  fatten  him  or  thin  him  down  it  would 
give  Chico  a  chance  to  get  in  travelling  form." 

"You've  struck  the  right  idea,"  said  Templeton. 
"We  must  find  fault  with  him.  I  guess  it's  one  of 
the  Tring  tribe  that  they  have  captured,  so  it's  a 
certainty  that  he  is  thin." 

The  bull-roarer  started  to  throb  in  the  village,  and 
we  understood  from  the  shouts  of  the  crowd 
that  the  sacrifice  was  being  brought  toward  the 
clearing. 

Templeton  thrust  his  head  in  the  opening  of  the 
cave  as  Chico  cried  out  a  question  regarding  the 
ruction. 

"It's  the  sacrifice  that  you  will  have  to  offer  to  the 
Mouths  of  Boorsh,"  explained  Templeton.  "They 
are  bringing  him  over  for  our  inspection.  Lenford 
and  I  are  going  to  protest  against  his  size,  and  that 
will  give  you  time  to  get  well." 

The  racket  came  closer,  the  guard  crashed  through 
the  undergrowth,  fought  their  way  through  the 
crowd,  halted  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  and  pushed 
their  captive  forward.  Templeton  and  I  gave  a  joint 
cry  of  astonishment.  Standing  in  front  of  us,  a  pic 
ture  of  grief  and  misery,  was  Gung,  the  Hindu! 

The  unfortunate  wretch  blinked   stupidly  as  if 


THE  PROPHETESS  219' 

doubtful  whether  we  were  real  or  part  of  the  night 
mare  which  surrounded  him,  but  when  he  saw  the 
Great  Parong  in  Templeton's  hands,  a  flash  of  hope 
spread  across  his  lean  features. 

"Sahib!"  he  shrieked.     "Save  me,  sahib!     Save 
me!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORANG  CAPELLO 

WE  WERE  never  more  impressed  with  the 
tremendous  happenings  of  the  preceding 
sixty  hours  than  when  we  looked  upon  the 
mud-spattered  Hindu.    It  took  an  effort  to  recall  the 
stampede  at  the  Place  of  Evil  Winds  and  the  manner 
in  which  Gung  had  left  us.     Into  the  time  that  in 
tervened  between  our  first  meeting  with  the  White 
Mias  and  the  appearance  of  the  sacrifice  we  had 
crammed  so  much  adventure  that  we  looked  back  on 
that  night  as  if  it  was  in  a  remote  past. 

Templeton  walked  down  the  slope,  took  his  knife 
from  its  sheath  and  cut  the  rattan  bonds  that  bound 
the  Hindu.  The  hag  saw  in  the  action  an  intimation 
that  we  were  willing  to  take  immediate  action  in  the 
matter  of  the  ceremony,  and  she  screamed  her  antici 
pations  to  the  crowd.  Waving  her  skinny  arms  she 
yelled  her  belief  till  the  jungle  echoed  with  her 
screams  and  the  yells  of  joy  with  which  her  words 
were  greeted. 

Chico  cried  out  a  question  and  I  answered  him. 

220 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORANG  CAPELLO       221 

"Gung  has  come  back,"  I  said.  "They  caught 
him  in  the  jungle.  You  are  supposed  to  sacrifice 
him  to  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  as  a  final  offering  before 
you  close  them  up." 

"They  can  go  to  the  devil!"  he  growled.  "If  I 
can  walk  I'm  going  to  quit  this  camp  the  moment  it 
is  dark." 

Templeton  put  his  hand  upon  Gung's  shoulder 
and  pushed  him  up  the  slope  to  the  spot  where  Nao 
and  I  were  standing.  The  Hindu  was  shivering 
with  terror.  His  thin,  spiderlike  legs  wobbled  fear 
fully  as  Red  pushed  him  up  the  slight  incline. 

"Save  me,  sahib!"  he  muttered.  "Take  me  from 
them!" 

"We'll  try  to,"  said  Red.  "We  want  somebody 
to  come  along  and  get  us  away  from  them." 

Templeton  explained  to  Nao  that  he  wished  her  to 
inform  the  hag  and  the  howling  mob  that  Gung, 
although  eminently  fitted  for  a  sacrifice,  was  at  the 
moment  too  thin  for  the  position,  and  that  three  or 
four  days  of  good  feeding  would  be  necessary  to 
make  him  acceptable  to  the  gurgling  mouths  of  the 
morass.  The  Golden  One  delivered  the  message 
and  nearly  created  a  riot  in  so  doing.  The  scream 
ing  hag  wanted  immediate  action,  and  her  wild 
cries  so  excited  the  crowd  that  fifty  warriors  charged 
up  the  slope. 


222  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Don't  shoot!"  cried  Templeton.  "The  sword 
creates  a  much  bigger  sensation.  See  what  effect  I 
can  produce  by  winging  this  lanky  savage  in  the 
lead." 

"But  the  blowpipes!"  I  cried.  "Look  out!  The 
man  in  the  lead  is  going  to  send  a  dart  at  us." 

The  tall,  thin  runner  leading  the  mob  lifted  his 
sumpitan,  but  he  wasn't  quick  enough.  A  revolver 
bullet  struck  him  in  the  chest,  he  rolled  down  the 
slope,  and  the  crowd  came  to  a  sudden  stop.  Vainly 
the  hag  implored  them  to  rush  up  the  incline  and 
compel  us  to  make  an  immediate  sacrifice  of  Gung, 
but  the  natives  were  cautious.  They  were  anxious 
that  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  should  be  closed  forever, 
but  they  were  in  no  hurry  to  lose  their  lives  in  forcing 
us  to  perform  the  miracle.  While  she  screamed  they 
retreated  sullenly,  and  Gung  stiffened  his  thin  legs 
in  an  endeavour  to  appear  courageous. 

"They  will  kill  us!"  he  cried.  "They  have  made 
up  their  minds  to  kill  us,  sahib!" 

"We've  got  something  to  say  in  that  matter," 
said  Templeton  grimly.  "Keep  your  nerve  up, 
Gung.  They're  not  as  bad  as  the  White  Mias." 

A  tremor  passed  over  the  Hindu's  frame,  and 
his  face  muscles  worked  convulsively.  The  fear 
that  had  gripped  him  the  night  that  the  orang-utans 
had  stampeded  him  and  the  ten  Dyaks  had  not  been 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORANG  CAPELLO        223 

worked  out  of  his  system  by  the  succeeding  dangers 
through  which  he  had  passed. 

The  revolver  shot  had  brought  the  battered  Chico 
from  his  bed  of  leaves,  and  he  peered  through  the 
opening  of  the  cave  at  the  throng. 

"What's  wrong?"  he  asked. 

"They're  in  a  hurry  to  get  us  busy,"  answered 
Templeton.  "I've  explained  that  Gung  isn't  fat 
enough  to  offer  up  to-day,  but  they're  insistent." 

Chico  laid  himself  down  with  his  head  through  the 
opening,  and  the  mob,  catching  sight  of  his  face, 
whined  in  chorus.  The  hag  stopped  her  screaming 
and  retired  to  the  shadow  of  a  big  tapang  tree.  The 
midday  heat  was  oppressive,  and  the  peculiar  nasal 
whine  had  a  somnolent  effect  upon  us  as  we  sat  and 
watched  the  hundreds  who  squatted  upon  their 
haunches  and  stared  up  at  us. 

The  odours  of  the  jungle  and  the  morass  crept  up 
around  us  and  increased  our  desire  for  sleep.  Body 
o*  me!  weren't  we  sleepy!  For  the  two  preceding 
nights  we  had  little  or  no  rest,  and  that  singsong 
noise,  together  with  the  stupor  produced  by  the 
heat  and  the  odours,  made  us  long  to  shut  our  eyes 
and  sleep  for  a  year. 

Twice  I  rolled  over  against  the  rocky  wall  of  the 
cavern,  but  the  watchful  Templeton  shook  me  gently 
and  made  me  open  my  eyes. 


224  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Don't  go  to  sleep,"  he  growled.  "If  we  shut  our 
eyes  it  will  be  our  last  sleep." 

I  suppose  there  was  some  hypnotic  power  in  the 
stare  of  those  hundreds.  There  must  have  been. 
They  might  have  willed  us  to  sleep,  and  helped  out 
their  mental  suggestion  with  that  nasal  whine  that 
made  it  impossible  for  any  one  to  keep  his  eyes  open. 
I'm  sure  they  did.  I  felt  that  their  nasal  chant  was 
killing  my  power  of  thought,  and  as  I  stared  at  them 
I  imagined  that  the  squatting  hundreds  were  kin  to 
the  great  silent  trees  of  tapang,  mohor,  and  kaladang. 
I  had  a  feeling  that  everything  around  us  was  alive 
—  the  trees,  the  morass,  the  mudbanks  —  and  that 
we  were  the  enemies  of  everything  within  sight  be 
cause  we  had  put  a  veneer  of  civilization  upon 
ourselves  that  made  it  impossible  for  us  to  un 
derstand  the  jungle  and  the  things  that  were  of  the 
jungle. 

It  was  a  punch  from  Templeton  that  dragged  me 
out  of  the  land  of  dreams,  and  I  sprang  up  in  alarm. 
The  squatting  hundreds  were  still  in  their  places, 
but  now  their  faces  were  turned  away  from  us.  A 
noise  in  the  jungle  had  attracted  their  attention,  and 
the  noise  was  one  that  made  us  wonder  concerning 
its  meaning.  It  was  the  noise  of  the  bull-roarer,  not 
the  continuous  noise  that  we  had  heard  on  previous 
occasions,  but  short,  intermittent  throbbings  that 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORANG  CAPELLO        225 

charged  the  hot  afternoon  with  a  feeling  of  sinister 
dread. 

For  a  full  five  minutes  the  squatting  hundreds 
remained  inactive,  their  faces  turned  to  the  spot 
from  which  the  noise  came,  then  in  groups  of  five 
and  ten  they  stood  up  and  slipped  quietly  into  the 
undergrowth. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  I  asked. 

Red  turned  to  the  Golden  One,  whose  turquoise- 
bordered  kabayah  that  rose  and  fell  with  her  quick 
breathing  seemed  to  tell  us  that  something  unusual 
was  afoot.  The  girl's  big  eyes  watched  the  dis 
appearing  men,  then  she  turned  toward  us  and 
whispered  a  few  words  in  Portuguese. 

"She  says  it  is  the  Panther,"  said  Templeton. 
"That  is  the  call  of  the  orang  capello,  or  head  man, 
and  no  one  can  use  it  except  the  chief  or  his  successor. 
And  there  is  no  successor  elected." 

One  after  the  other  the  groups  stole  from  the 
clearing,  and  we  sat  and  watched  them.  The 
sound  of  the  roarer  awakened  Chico  from  the 
doze  he  had  fallen  into  and  he  dragged  himself 
upon  the  ledge  and  listened.  Templeton  gave 
him  Nao's  explanation  of  the  racket,  and 
Morgan's  fingers  tightened  upon  the  butt  of  his 
revolver. 

"I  knew  he  wasn't  dead,"  he  said  quietly.     "I 


226  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

hadn't  the  strength  in  my  fingers  to  finish  him.  I 
don't  think  any  one  could  finish  him." 

"We'll  try  him  with  lead  next  time,"  snapped 
Templeton.  "We  should  have  used  it  on  the  beggar 
this  morning." 

The  mob  dwindled  down  till  but  half  a  score 
remained.  These  squatted  in  the  clearing  till  an 
other  and  louder  signal  came  from  the  tree  masses, 
then  they  stood  up  and  slipped  away,  leaving  only 
the  ancient  hag  to  watch  us. 

"She's  afraid  to  go,  I  think,"  said  Templeton. 
"She  denounced  the  Panther  because  he  wouldn't 
believe  that  we  were  spirits." 

"Let  Nao  speak  to  her,"  said  Chico.  "Ask  her 
who  she  is?" 

Red  asked  the  girl  and  she  answered  quickly. 

"She  says  that  the  old  one  is  the  Mother  of  the 
Years,"  translated  Templeton.  "She  is  older  than 
the  banyan  clump  in  front  of  the  kampong" 

"Get  her  views  on  our  position,"  urged  Chico. 
"We  can't  be  any  worse  off  than  we  are." 

The  Golden  One,  at  Templeton's  suggestion,  lifted 
her  voice  and  spoke  to  the  hag.  She  spoke  to  her 
gently,  and  the  old  woman  came  slowly  forward, 
beating  her  bare  and  withered  breasts  with  the  palms 
of  her  hands.  That  crone  made  us  feel  as  old  as  the 
Green  Buddha  of  Yamada  as  she  came  toward  us. 


,   THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORANG  CAPELLO        227 

She  exuded  an  atmosphere  of  age.  When  she 
stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  we  seemed  to  slip 
into  the  past  and  see  things  that  we  had  no  knowl 
edge  of  till  that  minute. 

Nao  spoke  to  Templeton,  and  Red  lifted  the  Great 
Parong  of  Buddha. 

"She  wants  to  see  the  sword,"  he  said.  "She 
asked  Nao  if  she  could  come  closer  to  it." 

"Sure  she  can,"  cried  Chico.  "Don't  give  it  into 
her  hands  though.  I  bet  she  can  run  faster  than 
a  jackrabbit,  and  we'd  look  foolish  chasing  her 
through  the  trees  if  she  took  a  notion  to  flit  with  it." 

Red  smiled  as  he  asked  the  Golden  One  to  tell  the 
ancient  dame  to  come  forward.  "She  hasn't  a 
possible  chance  of  getting  away  with  it,"  he  said. 
"We're  going  to  take  it  to  Benares  if  a  thousand 
Panthers  and  a  thousand  hags  try  to  block  the 
way." 

The  old  woman  approached  with  her  withered 
hands  upon  her  bare  head,  her  black  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  big  blade.  Up  the  slope  she  came  slowly,  fell 
upon  her  knees  when  within  a  yard  of  Templeton, 
and  timidly  put  out  a  hand  to  touch  the  golden  cobra 
that  formed  the  hilt.  Her  lips  moved  rapidly, 
but  we  could  not  catch  the  words. 

Very  slowly  the  thin  claw  moved  to  the  great,  blade 
and  when  her  fingers  touched  the  first  letters  of  the 


228  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

verse  that  was  written  in  Hindustanee,  she  looked 
questioningly  at  Red. 

"She  looks  as  if  she  wants  you  to  read  it,"  said 
Chico.  "Perhaps  it  has  been  a  puzzle  to  them." 

The  hag  spoke  to  Nao,  and  the  Golden  One  trans 
lated  her  remarks. 

"That  is  what  she  wants  to  know,"  said  Temp- 
leton.  "Nao  says  that  she  knows  what  is  written 
there,  but  that  she  wants  to  see  if  we  know." 

"Try  her  out,"  cried  Chico.  "Repeat  the  first 
two  lines  to  the  Golden  One,  and  ask  Mrs.  Methu 
selah  to  give  you  the  next  two." 

Red  repeated  the  first  two  lines  of  the  verse 
reading:  "I,  who  have  parted  the  planets,"  and 
when  Nao  started  to  translate  them  to  the  ancient 
hag  we  noticed  the  surprise  which  flashed  over  the 
face  of  the  crone.  Her  old  body  seemed  to  quiver 
with  the  shock  she  received,  and  her  little  eyes 
flashed  like  bits  of  black  opal. 

"She  knows  it!"  cried  Chico.  "Ask  her  for  the 
next  two  lines." 

The  Golden  One  put  the  question  and  that  old 
beldame  threw  up  her  head  and  started  to  chant. 
We  knew  that  she  was  chanting  that  poem  before 
Nao  translated  a  word  to  us.  And  it  was  wonderful 
how  we  did  know.  Like  her  words  about  the  Mouths 
of  Boorsh,  we  seemed  to  get  the  translation  from  the 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORANG  CAPELLO        229 

subconscious  brain,  and  when  she  got  to  the  last  line 
we  joined  in  and  shouted  in  English,  "With  Faith  I 
can  build  them  at  will,"  while  she  gave  the  rendering 
in  Malay. 

"That's  mighty  wonderful,"  remarked  Templeton. 
"They  have  no  records.  This  has  been  handed 
down  for  years.  It  might  have  been  told  to  them 
by  some  Buddhist  priest  that  Enrique  de  Gama 
kidnapped  when  he  thieved  the  treasure." 

Chico  took  a  full  breath  and  looked  at  the  jungle. 
The  afternoon  sun  was  slipping  behind  the  trees, 
and  a  loneliness  that  wrenched  at  our  souls  closed  in 
upon  the  place.  The  bull-roarer  had  long  ago  ceased 
to  disturb  the  stillness,  and  as  we  alternately  watched 
the  hag  and  the  jungle,  we  longed  for  the  atmosphere 
of  civilization  and  the  feeling  of  security  that  comes 
with  law  and  order. 

"I'd  give  a  little  sum  to  be  walking  up  Broadway 
right  now,"  growled  Chico.  "While  I  was  dreaming 
just  now  I  thought  I  was  sitting  out  a  show  at  the 
Hippodrome  with  a  vision  of  a  late  supper  in  the 
distance.  What  is  her  ladyship  going  to  do?" 

The  hag  slipped  down  the  slope  and  made  a  wild 
rush  for  the  clearing.  Her  thin  legs  moved  in  a 
way  that  made  us  think  of  Morgan's  remark  of  a 
few  minutes  before  as  we  watched  her  sprint. 

"What's  up  with  her?"  asked  Templeton. 


230  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Gung,  who  had  sat  like  a  man  in  a  trance  from  the 
moment  that  Red  had  cut  the  rattan  bonds  from  his 
arms,  thrust  his  head  forward  and  listened  intently. 

"They  are  coming  back,  sahib,"  he  said  quietly. 
"They  are  all  coming.  She  heard  them  and  she 
ran  to  meet  them." 

Gung  was  right.  His  sharper  ears  had  caught  the 
sounds  of  the  returning  Dyaks,  and  we  made  ready 
for  action.  If  the  Panther  was  alive  and  able  to 
get  about,  it  was  a  certainty  that  we  would  not  be 
left  unmolested  for  long,  and  as  a  running  battle  was 
out  of  the  question  on  account  of  the  half  crippled 
state  of  Chico,  the  cave  was  the  only  spot  where  we 
could  fight  with  any  advantage. 

"Make  Nao  get  inside  out  of  harm's  way,"  said 
Morgan.  "I've  got  a  notion  that  the  Panther  has 
worked  out  his  plans  at  the  conference." 

The  mob  burst  from  the  undergrowth  at  the  spot 
where  the  savages  had  disappeared,  and  it  was 
then  we  began  to  have  some  idea  of  the  activity  of 
the  ancient  hag  who  knew  the  verse  on  the  blade. 
She  was  skipping  along  in  front  of  the  mob,  shrieking 
loudly,  her  back  turned  to  us,  her  skinny  arms  out 
stretched  as  if  she  would  arrest  their  approach. 

"She's  trying  to  save  us,"  said  Chico. 

"Sure,"  growled  Red.  "She's  telling  them  that 
we  know  the  verse  upon  the  Great  Parong." 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORANG  CAPELLO        231 

I  guess  Templeton  was  right  about  her  efforts. 
It  seemed  as  if  her  screaming  was  done  on  our  behalf, 
but  it  did  little  good  at  that  moment.  The  Dyaks 
thrust  her  out  of  the  way,  but  still  shrieking  and 
waving  her  skinny  hands  she  rushed  ahead  of  the 
leaders,  a  veritable  fountain  of  abuse  and  energy. 

"They're  coming  for  us  this  time,"  said  Red. 
"Get  inside  the  cave,  Gung.  You  might  sit  near 
that  hole  in  the  corner  and  drop  a  rock  on  the  head 
of  any  one  who  tries  to  climb  up  through  it." 

Chico,  bruised  and  battered,  groaned  with  the 
pain  of  his  injuries  as  he  stretched  himself  in  the 
shelter  of  a  boulder  and  rested  the  barrel  of  his 
Winchester  rifle  upon  the  rock. 

"I'm  too  sick  to  run,  so  I've  got  to  stand,"  he 
said  grimly.  "If  we  had  enough  ammunition  it 
wouldn't  be Look!  Look!" 

We  looked  in  time  to  see  a  white  face  glance  for 
an  instant  from  the  leafy  trees  at  the  far  end  of  the 
clearing,  but  the  face  had  disappeared  before  Chico 
fired.  We  got  a  thrill  of  horror  from  that  glimpse. 
The  leprous  face  of  the  Spotted  Panther  chilled  us, 
and  we  forgot  for  a  moment  the  approaching  mob. 

"You  missed  him!"  cried  Red.  "Look  out! 
These  beggars  have  started  with  the  blowpipes!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE 

THE  memory  of  the  poisoned  dart  that  had 
nearly  put  Chico  out  of  all  worldly  trouble 
made  us  shoot  to  kill  as  the  savages  lifted 
their  blowpipes   to  blaze  away  at  us.     We  were 
more  afraid  of  their  using  the  blowpipes  than  we 
would  have  been  if  they  were  using  Winchesters.     A 
respectable  lead  bullet  kills  a  man  in  a  gentlemanly 
way,  but  the  dart  that  can  take  a  man's  life  by  merely 
touching  the  end  of  his  finger  creates  cold  chills  for 
the  person  who  is  under  attack. 

"Take  the  middle  section,  Lenford!"  cried  Tem- 
pleton.  "Chico  will  work  the  right.  Wait  till 
they  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  and  for  the  love 
of  heaven  don't  miss!" 

The  pace  of  the  warriors  increased  to  a  run  when 
they  were  near  our  end  of  the  clearing,  and  with  sum- 
pitans  ready  to  discharge  the  deadly  darts  at  any 
part  of  our  bodies  not  protected  by  the  boulders, 
they  rushed  at  the  slope.  Templeton  thrust  his 
hat  upon  the  blade  of  the  Great  Sword  and  pushed 

232 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        233 

it  up  over  the  shelter,  and  as  the  leaders  sent  a 
volley  of  darts  in  its  direction,  we  opened  fire. 

"Give  it  to  them!"  roared  Chico.  "That's  the 
style!  Keep  it  up,  boys!  Keep  it  up!" 

Three  warriors  in  the  lead  toppled  over  from  the 
effects  of  our  first  round,  but  three  deaths  were 
nothing  to  the  mob  that  surged  behind.  Those  in 
the  rear  knew  nothing  of  any  fatalities  in  the  front, 
and  they  swept  the  leaders  up  the  slope. 

"Make  it  as  hot  as  you  can!"  yelled  Templeton. 
"Give  it  to  them!" 

Our  only  hope  lay  in  taking  Templeton's  advice, 
and  as  fast  as  we  could  load  we  fired  at  the  swarm 
scrambling  'up  the  slope.  But  two  revolvers  and  a 
rifle  were  nothing  to  a  mob  of  savages  who  were 
thirsting  for  our  blood.  The  occasional  death  yell 
of  one  of  their  number  was  lost  in  the  uproar,  and 
they  poured  up  the  rise  like  a  brown  wave,  the  rays  of 
the  westering  sun  glinting  upon  their  oiled  bodies. 

Templeton  cursed  as  the  savages  sprang  forward. 
Our  ammunition  would  be  exhausted  in  a  few  seconds 
and  what  would  happen  after  that  we  had  no  desire 
to  contemplate.  The  natives  had  flung  the  blow 
pipes  away  as  they  came  to  close  quarters,  and  the 
razor-edged  parongs  flashed  in  the  sunlight. 

Templeton  fired  his  last  cartridge,  flung  the 
revolver  at  the  face  of  the  leader,  then,  springing  to 


234  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

his  feet,  he  seized  the  Great  Sword  of  Buddha  and 
swung  it  around  his  head.  The  thing  cut  through 
the  air  like  chain  lighting,  cut  through  the  neck  of 
the  brute  in  the  lead  and  maimed  the  man  immedi 
ately  behind  him.  Glory  to  strength!  A  poet 
with  a  tongue  like  Homer  should  have  been  there  to 
see  Red  Templeton  at  that  moment.  I  shall  con 
jure  up  the  picture  in  the  days  when  my  blood  runs 
cold,  and  I  shall  thrill  like  a  boy  who  reads  for  the 
first  time  the  story  of  Leonidas  the  Spartan.  That 
blade  was  made  for  blood.  It  was  thirsty  for  it. 
It  leaped  at  the  faces  of  the  screaming  fiends  as  if 
it  had  the  thirst  of  three  centuries  upon  it.  No 
wonder  that  it  pulled  down  kings  and  put  in  their 
places  strong  armed  adventurers  who  knew  how  to 
use  it.  Roland's  enchanted  sword  was  dwarfed 
by  that  Parong  of  Buddha.  Chico  and  I  got  upon 
our  knees  and  roared  like  madmen.  We  forgot  the 
darts  from  the  blowpipes.  We  forgot  all  danger. 
We  only  knew  that  a  big,  red-blooded  white  man 
was  scaring  the  hearts  out  of  a  thousand  savages  by 
the  way  he  hacked  and  drove  a  blade  that  Rolf 
the  Ganger  would  have  given  a  dukedom  for. 

A  great  fear  clutched  the  Dyaks.  Their  little 
parongs  fell  from  their  hands  as  Red  rushed  upon 
them.  They  broke  before  his  attack.  With  yells 
of  terror  they  turned  and  fled  down  the  slope,  and 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        235 

Templeton  howled  like  the  wizard  dog  upon  Mount 
Sai  as  he  chased  them.  I  cannot  write  it  as  I  saw  it! 
I  cannot  tell  it  now  in  a  way  that  will  make  the 
reader's  blood  glow  as  mine  glows  every  time  I 
run  before  my  mental  eye  the  film  that  pictures 
Templeton  standing  like  a  red-headed  viking  and 
dealing  death  in  all  directions. 

"By  the  bones  of  Stonewall  Jackson!  he'll  chase 
them  into  the  jungle!"  roared  Chico.  "Red! 
Red!  Come  back,  you  fool!  Come  back!  Tem 
pleton!  •  Templeton!  Catch  him,  Lenford!  Catch 
him!" 

I  rushed  down  the  slope  calling  at  the  top  of  my 
voice,  and  as  I  reached  the  clearing,  he  heard  me. 
He  was  crazed  with  victory  just  then.  His  eyes 
had  a  light  in  them  that  one  never  sees  in  these 
cold-blooded  days  when  men  kill  each  other  at 
a  range  of  half  a  mile. 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  me  as  if  I  was  a  stranger, 
while  the  howling  Dyaks,  thankful  to  get  the  op 
portunity  to  escape,  fled  across  the  clearing.  For  a 
moment  he  regarded  me  in  puzzled  wonder,  then  he 
laughed  and  looked  at  the  dripping  blade. 

"That  was  a  great  fight,  Lenford,"  he  said. 
"The  golden  cobra  has  had  a  drink  at  last." 

I  walked  back  with  him  up  the  slope,  and  Chico 
Morgan  clawed  himself  upright  and  gripped  Red's 


236  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

hand  without  speaking.  They  were  two  great 
men.  By  the  Beard  of  Mahomet!  yes!  I  wrote 
when  describing  their  first  fight  in  Banjermassin 
that  I  was  doubtful  which  was  the  better  fighter 
of  the  two,  and  I  am  still  in  doubt  now  that  I 
have  described  their  great  battles.  Chico  had 
put  up  a  wonderful  single-handed  fight  with  the 
Panther  that  morning,  but  I  hope  I  may  dream  of 
Red  Templeton's  sword  work  through  all  eternity. 

Gung,  the  Hindu,  crawled  out  of  the  cave,  and 
looked  at  Red  with  eyes  of  astonishment.  The 
Hindu  had  thought  that  his  last  hour  had  arrived 
when  the  leaders  of  the  mob  were  swarming  over 
the  boulders  behind  which  we  were  entrenched,  and 
the  defeat  of  the  enemy  was  nothing  short  of  a 
miracle.  He  dropped  upon  his  knees  in  front 
of  Templeton  and  bowed  his  head  before  the  great 
red  sword. 

Nao,  looking  as  if  the  fear  for  our  safety  had  made 
her  more  beautiful  than  ever,  stepped  out  of  the 
cave  and  looked  admiringly  from  Morgan  to  Tem 
pleton,  and  from  Templeton  back  to  Morgan. 
To  see  the  Panther  defeated  in  the  morning  and  to 
see  the  Panther's  horde  put  to  flight  in  the  afternoon 
were  sights  that  made  the  Golden  One  feel  strangely 
proud  of  the  alliance  that  she  had  formed  at  the 
little  stone  cross  in  the  jungle. 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        237 

For  the  space  of  a  minute  she  looked  at  the  two 
giants  as  if  trying  to  think  up  something  compli 
mentary  to  their  prowess,  then  she  stood  up  between 
the  two  and,  placing  a  little  hand  upon  the  bare 
shoulder  of  each,  she  lisped  one  word. 

"Leesbon,"  she  murmured. 

"Ay,  Lisbon ! "  cried  Chico.  "  We'll  start  to-night, 
my  girl!  If  I  can't  walk,  Gung  must  carry  me. 
We'll  start  to-night!  The  whole  crew  of  us! 
We'll  start  for  Broadway,  Piccadilly,  the  Praco 
do  Rocia,  and  every  other  place  that  there  are 
bright  lights  shining!" 

Templeton  smiled  at  Chico's  good  humour,  then 
he  glanced  at  the  jungle,  from  which  came  cries 
and  yells,  with  an  occasional  throb  of  the  concen 
trated  essence  of  sound  when  the  bull-roarer  was 
let  loose.  "We'll  surely  have  to  make  an  attempt 
to  get  away  to-night,"  he  said.  "They'll  get  their 
nerve  back  in  a  few  hours,  and  we  can't  fight  them  at 
long  range  without  ammunition.  We  had  luck 
this  time.  They  were  so  thick  around  us  that  they 
hadn't  room  to  use  their  blowpipes." 

"Sure  we'll  go  to-night!"  cried  Chico.  "I've 
an  idea  that  to-night  is  the  night  that  Fate  has 
picked  out  for  our  retreat.  You  don't  understand 
me,  Nao,  but  it's  a  lump  of  wisdom  I'm  handing  out." 

"Leesbon,"  murmured  the  girl. 


238  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Yes,  it's  Lisbon,"  cried  the  delighted  Morgan. 
"We're  off  to  Philadelphia  in  the  morning!" 

Templeton  was  staring  at  the  Great  Sword  that 
flashed  back  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  "We'll 
never  part  with  it,  Morgan,"  he  said  quietly. 

"We  never  will,"  answered  Chico.  "We'll  only 
show  it  to  them  in  that  old  Temple  of  Arungzebee. 
Show  it  to  them  at  ten  dollars  a  head,  but  they'll 
never  get  possession  of  it.  Not  even  if  the  British 
Government  wants  to  make  you  a  rajah,  Red!" 

"No,  nor  a  hundred  times  a  rajah!"  muttered 
Templeton.  "A  man  who  owns  this  is  greater 
than  a  king." 

"If  he  can  swing  it  like  you  can,"  said  Chico. 
"Never  mind,  it  will  be  dark  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
we'll  be  getting  ready  to  give  them  a  lesson  in  the 
art  of  disappearing." 

The  sun  slipped  out  of  sight,  and  the  wings  of 
night  came  down  out  of  Asia  and  enfolded  the 
clearing.  The  thick  darkness  washed  out  the  out 
lines  of  the  big  trees,  and  the  noises  of  prowling 
things  came  from  the  undergrowth. 

"They're  bound  to  have  a  strong  guard  at  the 
crossing  where  we  met  the  One-Who-Never-Slept," 
muttered  Chico. 

"We'll  have  to  chance  it,"  said  Red.  "If  you 
can  walk  we'll  try  our  luck." 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        239 

"I'll  crawl  to  get  out  of  this  place,"  growled 
Morgan.  "I've  had  enough  of  the  jungle  to  last 
me  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

The  Golden  One  was  brought  into  the  consulta 
tion,  and  Templeton  asked  her  advice  on  the  best 
way  of  reaching  the  spot  where  the  swinging  rope 
hung  above  the  channel  of  bubbling  mud.  The 
moon  would  rise  within  an  hour,  and  although  Nao 
asserted  that  we  would  need  the  light  to  get  to 
the  swinging  ropes  and  thence  across  the  Mouths 
of  Boorsh,  we  decided  that  we  would  leave  the 
cave  under  cover  of  darkness.  Our  position  upon 
the  cliff  gave  us  too  much  prominence,  and  if  we 
attempted  to  move  out  after  the  moon  had  risen, 
our  retreat  would  be  noticed  by  the  watchful  eyes 
of  the  Dyaks. 

"We'll  get  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  cliff  and 
wait  there,"  said  Templeton.  "Then  we  can  go 
forward  the  moment  we  have  sufficient  light." 

"Come  on!"  cried  Chico.  "Lead  the  way  with 
the  sword,  Red.  We'll  follow  after  you." 

Templeton  picked  up  the  Great  Parong  and  moved 
down  the  narrow  path,  and  we  fell  into  line  behind 
him.  It  was  the  start  home,  and  I  experienced  a 
thousand  thrills  as  we  went  forward.  If  we  could 
cross  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  in  safety  and  reach  the 
banks  of  the  Barito  River,  we  would  make  Banjer- 


240  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

massin  inside  three  weeks,  and  my  heart  pounded 
mightily  as  I  thought  of  the  stir  we  would  cause  in 
the  waiting  Orient  when  the  news  of  our  discovery 
would  go  forth  to  the  world.  The  Cup  of  Ever 
lasting  Fire  which  the  opium-dulled  Courtney  had 
possessed  himself  of  was  nothing  to  that  sword. 
Nothing  at  all!  The  cup  was  beautiful,  but  the 
Great  Parong  was  a  living  Force!  Yes!  it  was 
alive!  If  it  had  spoken  to  us  like  the  magic  sword 
spoke  to  Roland  we  would  not  have  been  surprised. 

The  Golden  One  spoke  to  Templeton  as  we  stepped 
down  the  narrow  path,  and  Morgan  asked  for  a 
translation. 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Chico. 

"She  wants  us  to  stop  at  the  stone  cross  so  that 
she  can  make  a  farewell  prayer  there." 

"Stop  by  all  means,"  answered  Morgan.  "I'm 
not  given  much  to  prayers,  but  if  we  get  as  far  as 
the  cross  with  our  heads  on  our  shoulders  I'll  do 
some  praying  myself.  And  I'll  make  Gung  pray 
too.  He's  the  sacrifice  that  missed  being  sacri 
ficed." 

The  Hindu  whispered  a  prayer  to  Buddha  into 
the  night  air.  Gung  was  frightened  clean  out  of 
his  wits,  and  his  teeth  chattered  as  he  walked  along. 
That  place  of  mystery  and  death  so  affected  him 
that  he  was  unable  to  answer  a  simple  question. 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        241 

Very  slowly  and  very  quietly  we  descended  the 
cliff  upon  the  side  nearest  the  kampong,  following 
the  path  which  Nao  had  raced  along  when  she 
acquainted  us  with  the  work  of  the  man-hound 
on  that  first  morning  of  our  arrival.  We  could  not 
see  an  object  three  feet  in  front  of  us,  and  Red 
reluctantly  gave  up  his  place  in  the  lead  to  the  girl, 
who  was  surer-footed  and  familiar  with  the  locality. 

We  reached  the  level  ground  at  last,  and  halted. 
The  faintest  glow  showed  above  the  line  of  the 
jungle,  and  we  crept  into  the  undergrowth  to  await 
the  rising  of  the  moon. 

"Don't  speak!"  whispered  Templeton.  "You 
can't  tell  what  the  beggars  will  be  up  to." 

In  silence  we  sat  and  waited,  our  ears  noting  the 
thousand  and  one  minor  sounds  that  came  from  the 
jungle.  The  occasional  cry  of  a  monkey  and  the 
hoot  of  an  owl  came  to  our  ears,  while  now  and  then 
we  heard  the  squeal  of  a  wild  pig  that  had  been 
trapped  in  one  of  the  bamboo  pig  traps  which  the 
cunning  Kyan  builds  upon  the  path  of  the  porkers 
who  raid  his  paddy  patch. 

I  think  it  was  the  Golden  One  who  first  dis 
covered  a  sinister  significance  in  the  faint  crackling 
of  twigs  and  dry  grasses  that  came  to  our  ears.  Nao 
had  remarkable  hearing.  She  could  hear  sounds 
that  even  Gung  could  not  detect,  and  as  we  crouched 


242  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

in  the  darkness  she  conveyed  to  us  the  intelligence 
that  the  enemy  was  moving  upon  the  cave. 

We  obtained  the  information  through  our  own 
ears  before  many  minutes  had  passed.  The  night 
was  alive!  From  the  grassy  clearing,  upon  the 
fringe  of  which  we  sat  and  waited,  came  a  rustling 
sound  that  suggested  the  passage  of  a  score  of  py 
thons  moving  slowly  over  dry  grass.  The  savages 
were  crawling  toward  the  slope! 

Templeton  put  his  face  close  to  Nao's  and  sug 
gested  an  immediate  move,  but  the  Golden  One  had 
objections  to  offer.  In  a  breathless  whisper  she 
explained  that  many  of  the  headhunters  would 
approach  from  the  kampong,  and  that  we  would 
move  directly  across  their  path  if  we  made  for  the 
Mouths  of  Boorsh.  Templeton  translated  her  ob 
jections  in  a  whisper. 

"We  must  wait  till  they  climb  the  slope,"  he 
breathed.  "Then  we  must  run." 

We  guessed  we  would  have  to  run  mighty  hard  as 
we  sat  and  listened  to  the  advance  of  the  Panther's 
warriors.  The  sinister  sound  made  by  the  bodies  as 
they  moved  over  the  grass  convinced  us  that  every 
man  in  the  kampong  had  been  gathered  for  the 
attack,  and  as  the  faint  glow  from  the  rising  moon 
spread  like  a  silvery  mist  over  the  place,  we  could 
dimly  discern  the  sea  of  moving  bodies.  And 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        243 

that  army  of  attack  gave  us  cold  chills  as  we  crouched 
in  the  velvety  shadows  and  watched  it  moving 
snakily  forward. 

The  light  grew  stronger,  and  it  was  then  that  we 
were  convinced  that  the  Golden  One  was  right  in 
protesting  against  our  plan  of  moving  straight  upon 
the  spot  where  the  ropes  swung  over  the  channel 
of  mud.  From  the  direction  of  the  kampong  a 
second  detachment  was  advancing  to  the  attack, 
and  as  we  listened  to  the  sounds  that  told  of  their 
approach,  we  understood  that  we  were  directly 
between  the  two  droves  of  crawling  men.  We 
would  have  to  remain  perfectly  quiet  till  the  de 
tachment  from  the  village  was  climbing  the  cliff, 
then,  as  Nao  advised,  slip  quietly  away. 

"Glory  be!  we'll  have  to  hustle  some,"  breathed 
Chico.  "When  they  find  that  the  nest  is  empty 
they'll  fine-comb  the  jungle." 

"Ssh!  don't  make  a  noise!"  whispered  Templeton. 
"Be  ready  now!  Give  Morgan  a  hand,  Lenford. 
Step  lightly  and  move  as  fast  as  you  can." 

We  got  upon  our  feet  and  waited  for  the  word. 
At  that  moment  we  could  make  out  the  figures  of 
the  foe  quite  distinctly.  The  ground  at  the  base 
of  the  cliff  swarmed  with  them,  but  it  was  evident 
that  the  dead  bodies  which  bore  testimony  to  the 
strength  of  Templeton's  right  arm  caused  the 


244  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

attacking  party  to  move  very  cautiously  as  they 
approached  the  opening  to  the  cave.  As  we  stepped 
softly  out  of  the  shadows  the  leading  savages  were 
moving  at  a  snail's  pace,  and  we  prayed  fervently 
that  an  attack  of  funk  would  keep  them  from 
making  the  final  rush  till  we  had  reached  the  place  of 
the  swinging  ropes. 

"Now,"  whispered  Templeton,  "follow  me  closely 
and " 

A  cry  broke  from  the  mob  upon  the  cliff  —  a  cry 
of  concentrated  terror,  and  we  sprang  back  into 
the  protecting  shadows. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Chico.  "What  are  they 
saying?" 

Nao  pointed  with  her  finger  in  the  direction  of  the 
Mouths  of  Boorsh,  and  we  understood  what  had 
brought  the  wail  of  fear  from  the  mob.  The  rim 
of  the  moon  appeared  above  the  jungle,  and  the  moon 
was  the  color  of  blood! 

"Great  Scott!"  cried  Morgan.  "The  Moon  of 
Blood!  And  the  beggars  can't  parade  the  Great 
Parong  because  they  haven't  got  it!" 

Their  helplessness  seemed  to  strike  the  head- 
hunters  as  they  stared  at  the  alarming  spectacle. 
The  goddess  of  the  night  was  angry,  and  they  had 
no  way  of  appeasing  her  anger.  From  time  im 
memorial  they  had  paraded  the  Great  Sword  around 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        245 

the  clearing  when  the  red  moon  came  up  through 
the  mists  above  the  morass,  but  now  the  sword  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Curiously  their  fear  of  some  terrible  disaster 
overtaking  them  while  they  were  in  the  open  made 
them  forget  their  nearness  to  the  cave  and  the 
fact  that  their  overwhelming  numbers  would  make 
the  recovery  of  the  weapon  an  easy  matter.  The 
only  desire  in  their  primitive  minds  was  to  find  a 
hiding-place  from  the  angry  eye  of  the  moon,  and 
they  set  about  that  matter  with  vigour.  Above 
the  groans  of  terror  we  heard  the  voice  of  the  Panther 
ordering  them  forward,  but  the  Panther  ordered 
in  vain.  Their  leader  was  mortal,  but  the  red  eye 
in  the  sky  was  something  beyond  their  ken.  They 
rose  to  their  feet  in  a  body,  and  with  bloodcurdling 
shrieks  dashed  down  the  slope  and  into  the  jungle. 
Inside  a  minute  the  slope  was  empty,  and  only  a 
faint  moaning  from  the  silent  tree  masses  told  us 
of  the  whereabouts  of  the  terrified  horde. 

Chico  gasped:  "Did  any  one  ever  see  the  like 
of  that?  What  are  we  to  do  now?  Half  the  brutes 
bolted  in  the  direction  of  the  kampong!" 

The  Golden  One  started  to  sob,  and  Templeton 
tried  to  calm  her.  The  girl  blamed  herself  for  the 
delay  that  had  increased  our  dangers,  and  her  grief 
was  great. 


246  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Tell  her  it  wasn't  her  fault,"  said  Chico.  "We 
couldn't  have  reached  the  ford  if  we  had  gone  before. 
We're  safer  where  we  are." 

Templeton  explained,  and  the  girl  dried  her  tears 
and  joined  in  the  whispered  discussion  which  we 
held  as  to  the  best  move.  It  was  doubtful  if  the 
horde  would  return  to  the  cliff  after  the  moon  had 
fought  its  way  out  of  the  vapour  clouds  that  gave  it 
the  peculiar  tinge,  and  we  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  we  would  make  an  immediate  attempt  to 
reach  the  crossing  place  in  spite  of  the  dangers 
that  were  in  our  path. 

"We  can't  go  back!"  said  Chico.  "We  must  go 
forward,  and  we  might  as  well  start  at  once.  Hello ! 
here's  one  of  them  coming  back!" 

Across  the  moonlit  clearing  raced  a  solitary  figure, 
and  we  watched  it  with  interest.  Up  the  slope  to 
the  cave  it  ran  nimbly,  disappeared  for  an  instant, 
then  hopped  through  the  opening,  and  came  hur 
riedly  down  the  path  toward  the  spot  where  we  were 
hiding. 

"Now  the  game  is  up!"  growled  Red.  "That 
inquisitive  brute  will  yell  the  news  to  the  night,  and 
they'll  be  on  our  path  like  a  pack  of  wolves." 

The  bold  one  came  forward  slowly,  stopping  every 
few  paces  and  peering  around.  Our  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  human  bloodhound  whose  tracking  work 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        247 

had  been  stopped  by  the  poisoned  dart  that  had 
come  from  the  jungle,  and  we  wondered  if  the 
solitary  wanderer  was  another  gifted  with  the 
same  faculties. 

The  trailing  native  stopped  within  four  feet  of 
our  hiding-place,  and  we  stared  at  the  head  that  was 
thrust  toward  us.  We  recognized  those  shrivelled 
features.  The  pursuer  was  the  hag  —  the  ancient 
beldame  that  Nao  had  informed  us  was  known  as 
the  Mother  of  the  Years ! 

She  spoke  softly,  and  the  Golden  One  gave  a  little 
gasp  that  told  us  that  the  penetrating  eyes  of  the 
old  woman  had  discovered  our  hiding-place.  It 
may  not  have  been  her  eyes.  That  old  withered 
hag  gave  one  the  impression  that  nothing  could  be 
concealed  from  her.  She  had  followed  our  track 
down  the  hill  like  the  cripple  had  followed  it  the 
morning  after  our  arrival. 

"She  sees  us,"  said  Chico.  "You  had  better 
get  Nao  to  speak  to  her.  She's  friendly  to  us." 

Templeton  spoke  to  the  Golden  One,  and  the 
girl  translated  his  words  to  the  Mother  of  the  Years. 
Ay!  she  was  Mother  of  the  Centuries  as  well  as  the 
Years !  She  was  Time  itself,  wrapped  in  parchment 
and  defying  natural  laws  by  promenading  around 
the  jungle. 

The  old  woman  stepped    into  the  shadows  and 


248  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

spoke  rapidly  to  the  girl.  We  understood  a  word 
here  and  there,  and  we  were  mighty  anxious  to 
hear  the  full  translation  from  Red. 

"What's  the  tale?"  cried  Morgan. 

"The  ropes  are  cut/'  answered  Templeton. 
"There  are  two  hundred  of  the  natives  on  guard 
at  the  spot  where  the  One-Who-Never-Slept  met 
us,  and  there  is  no  hope  of  us  getting  across  by 
that  route." 

"Ask  her  if  there  is  any  other  way  ?"  said  Chico. 

Templeton  passed  the  query  along,  and  the  hag 
moved  closer  to  us  before  answering.  She  dropped 
upon  her  bony  knees  and  fingered  the  sword  with 
her  claws,  then  she  lifted  up  her  voice  and  spoke 
in  a  dialect  that  Nao  did  not  understand.  I  guess 
it  was  a  dialect  that  no  one  understood  but  herself. 

"Who  the  dickens  is  she  speaking  to?"  cried  Red. 
"She  is  asking  questions  of  some  one." 

There  was  something  about  the  woman's  actions 
that  upset  Gung's  stomach.  When  she  put  her 
questions  —  we  knew  that  they  were  questions 
—  the  Hindu  curled  himself  up  like  a  whipped 
dog,  and  his  teeth  chattered  as  he  watched  her. 
I  guess  Gung's  skin  was  more  sensitive  than  ours, 
but  our  skins  told  us  enough  to  make  us  creepy 
at  that  moment.  It  disconcerts  one  a  little  to  have 
an  old  woman  who  looks  as  if  she  might  have  fought 


WHEN  TEMPLETON  FOUGHT  ALONE        249 

with  a  glyptodon  put  questions  to  the  empty  atmos 
phere  in  a  tongue  that  you  have  never  heard  before. 

"Me  for  civilization  after  this,"  muttered  Chico. 
"These  giddy  jungle-dwellers  have  got  me  feeling 
as  foolish  as  a  crocodile  who  has  swallowed  a  broken 
bottle." 

Four  times  that  ancient  dame  fired  the  question  at 
the  velvety  night,  then  she  gave  a  gurgle  of  joy 
and  turned  quickly  to  the  Golden  One.  Words 
poured  from  her  shrivelled  lips,  and  we  could  tell 
from  the  manner  in  which  Nao  clasped  and  unclasped 
her  tapering  fingers  that  she  was  receiving  news  that 
was  of  more  than  ordinary  importance.  We  felt 
its  importance  before  Nao  translated  a  word  of  it 
to  Templeton. 

"Out  with  it!"  cried  Morgan.     "Tell  us,  Red!" 

Templeton  listened  till  the  girl  had  translated 
the  hag's  remarks,  then  he  turned  toward  us.  "Old 
Mother  of  the  Years  is  going  to  take  us  through  a 
secret  passage  that  is  beneath  the  channel  of  mud," 
he  said.  "It  will  bring  us  on  to  the  island  of  rock 
from  which  we  swung  across  by  the  rope.  No  one 
knows  of  it,  not  even  the  Panther.  She  calls  it 
the  Passage  of  the  Living  Light,  and  she  says  it 
hasn't  been  used  for  half  a  century." 


CHAPTER  XX 

V 

THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  GLOW-WORMS 

I  DO  not  know  whether  Templeton  and  Morgan 
were  inclined  to  grip  that  old  hag's  hand  and 
shake  it,  but  I  know  I  had  the  inclination. 
Yet  it  was  an  inclination  that  lacked  the  viril 
ity  to  convert  itself  into  an  act.  I  was  afraid  to 
touch  the  thin  claw  of  the  perambulating  mummy, 
and  I  endeavoured  to  tender  her  my  share  of  the 
thanks  by  nodding  vigorously  when  she  looked  in 
my  direction. 

Gung  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  accept  her 
proposition  gleefully.  The  Hindu  was  afraid  of 
the  old  woman,  and  he  groaned  fearfully  as  we 
stood  up  to  follow  her.  Gung  had  become  a  con 
firmed  pessimist,  and  he  refused  to  see  a  ray  of 
comfort  in  the  offer. 

"Never  mind,  Gung,"  said  Chico.  "We've  still 
got  a  chance.  Buck  up,  man!  Buck  up!" 

The  Mother  of  the  Years  started  off  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  kampong,  and  we  followed  her  at  a 
swift  pace.  That  old  woman  was  about  the  nim- 

250 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  GLOW-WORMS       251 

blest  fossil  we  had  ever  seen.  Judged  by  her  face 
you  would  say  that  she  had  as  much  life  in  her  as 
the  trilobites  they  find  in  the  Old  Red  Sandstone, 
but  when  she  started  to  move  you  decided  dif 
ferently. 

She  turned  to  the  right  before  we  came  within  a 
hundred  yards  of  the  village,  and  moving  swiftly 
through  the  thick  undergrowth,  we  circled  the  attap 
houses  of  the  Panther's  followers  and  came  out 
upon  the  edge  of  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  at  a  point 
which  we  took  to  be  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant 
from  the  spot  where  we  had  gained  the  shore  on 
the  night  we  crossed  over.  That  place  chilled  us 
when  we  came  close  to  it.  The  horrid,  rumbling 
noise  suggestive  of  an  empty  stomach  of  mammoth 
proportions  came  from  it,  and  the  eddying  mud 
that  quivered  in  the  bright  moonlight  gave  us 
creepy  sensations  that  are  indescribable.  We  didn't 
wonder  at  the  intensity  with  which  the  hag  prayed 
when  she  entreated  us  to  close  up  those  mouths. 
She  had  lived  alongside  that  morass  till  the  terror 
of  the  place  had  entered  into  her  soul.  And  the 
Lord  only  knows  how  many  she  had  seen  swallowed 
up  during  her  lifetime. 

We  coasted  the  shore  of  the  sea  of  mud,  walking 
in  single  file  between  a  mass  of  nipa-palm  and  the 
slime.  In  the  moonlight  we  could  see  distinctly 


252  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

the  long  rocky  island  to  which  we  had  crossed  under 
Nao's  guidance,  but  on  the  spot  where  we  then  were 
it  was  much  farther  from  the  shore  than  it  was  at 
the  point  where  the  sleepless  one  had  kept  his  watch. 
No  rope  could  bridge  the  gulf  of  mud  that  separated 
us  from  it  at  the  point  where  the  hag  brought  us. 

"I  think  she  means  to  make  us  swim  it,"  growled 
Chico.  "I  can't  see  how  we  are  going  to  get  to 
the  island  in  any  other  way." 

A  wild  howl  came  down  the  wind  from  the  di 
rection  of  the  cliff,  and  we  guessed  that  the  Panther 
had  infused  enough  courage  into  his  horde  to 
enable  them  to  make  another  attack  upon  the  cave. 
And  we  well  understood  what  would  follow  the 
fruitless  rush  upon  the  empty  chamber  in  the  rock. 
As  the  moon  rose  beyond  the  haze  which  covered 
the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  we  knew  that  the  headhunters 
would  find  their  courage,  and  they  would  then  set 
out  to  scour  the  jungle  in  search  of  us. 

"Tell  Nao  to  make  the  old  crone  hurry,"  said 
Morgan.  "If  we're  not  mighty  quick  in  finding 
some  kind  of  a  burrow  to  hide  in  we'll  never  carry 
the  Big  Sword  to  Benares." 

The  hag  stopped  as  Chico  finished  speaking, 
carefully  measured  the  distance  between  the  butt 
of  a  tapang  tree  and  the  morass,  then,  walking  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  channel,  she  looked  across  the 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  GLOW-WORMS       253 

sea  of  bubbling  slime.  There  was  no  caked  sur 
face  here  like  that  upon  which  we  had  walked  when 
crossing  to  the  rocky  island  on  the  night  we  reached 
the  kampong.  The  mud  was  alive!  It  bubbled 
up  incessantly,  and  in  the  moonlight  we  stood  and 
watched  it  swirl  around  in  curious  eddies  as  if  the 
blades  of  a  huge  propeller  were  moving  slowly  a 
hundred  fathoms  beneath  the  surface. 

The  hag  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  channel  and 
lifted  her  skinny  hands  high  above  her  head.  It 
seemed  to  us  that  she  was  making  some  sort  of 
invocation  to  that  place,  and  at  the  moment  we 
were  in  no  mood  to  witness  a  performance  of  that 
kind.  The  night  breeze  carried  to  our  ears  the 
howls  of  our  pursuers,  and  as  we  watched  the 
emaciated  form  of  the  old  woman,  a  dim  sus 
picion  formed  within  our  brains  that  she  was  either 
crazy  or  that  she  had  lured  us  to  the  spot  so  that 
the  Panther  could  surround  us  with  his  howling 
warriors. 

"She's  fooling  us!"  cried  Templeton.  "The 
old  witch  is  humbugging  us!  What ' 

Red  made  a  spring  forward  as  he  stopped  speak 
ing,  but  he  was  too  late  to  grab  the  Mother  of  the 
Years.  She  had  jumped  straight  out  into  the  mud, 
landed  at  a  point  about  four  feet  from  the  shore, 
but  instead  of  disappearing  bodily  as  we  thought 


254  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

she  surely  would,  she  only  sank  in  the  stuff  till  her 
knees  were  covered! 

"She  has  struck  bottom!"  cried  Morgan. 

The  hag  turned  herself  carefully  and  started  to 
chatter  to  Nao,  and  the  Golden  One  passed  on  the 
remarks  to  Red. 

"She  says  that  there  are  ten  steps  between  here 
and  that  black  rock,"  explained  Templeton.  "They 
are  the  length  of  a  short  spear  from  each  other, 
and  if  we  miss  them  we  will 'sink  in  that  mud,  which 
is  deeper  than  the  tallest  tapang  tree." 

"And  what  awaits  us  at  that  black  rock?"  asked 
Chico. 

"The  Passage  of  the  Glow-worms  starts  from  that 
point.  It  leads  from  there  under  the  rest  of  the 
channel  to  the  island." 

Morgan  whistled  in  astonishment  as  the  hag 
turned  her  face  from  us  and  looked  steadily  at  the 
mud  in  front  of  her  as  if  her  keen  bjack  eyes  were 
attempting  to  discover  that  second  step  hidden 
beneath  two  feet  of  thick  mud.  It  was  an  eerie 
business.  If  she  missed  that  second  step  and  went 
down  into  that  buttery  mass  it  was  a  certainty 
that  none  of  us  would  have  the  heart  to  make  a 
second  test.  She  had  informed  us  that  the  passage  had 
not  been  used  for  half  a  century,  and  we  were  fearful 
lest  those  steps  had  been  swept  away  during  the  years. 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  GLOW-WORMS      255 

"Keep  your  eye  on  the  spot  where  she  is  standing!" 
cried  Templeton.  "The  steps  must  be  small  by 
the  cautious  way  she  goes  about  it.  You'll  go 
next,  Morgan,  so  watch  where  she  springs  from." 

Chico  moved  to  the  bank  and  we  watched  the  hag 
with  breathless  interest.  For  a  full  minute  she 
stared  at  the  mud  in  front  of  her,  then  she  sprang. 

"She's  hit  it!"  cried  Red.  "Now,  Morgan! 
Do  you  think  you  can  jump?  I'd  go  in  front,  but  I 
want  to  guard  the  rear  with  the  sword  in  case  the 
beggars  discover  us  before  we're  in  the  passage." 

"I  can  jump  it,"  muttered  Chico.     "Here  goes!" 

Chico  sprang,  hit  the  mud  with  a  splash,  sank  to 
his  knees,  and  stood  upright. 

We  were  breathing  hard  just  then.  If  the  Mother 
of  the  Years  found  a  step  missing  at  the  other  end 
of  the  submerged  route  we  wondered  if  we  could 
find  our  way  back  over  that  trail.  It  seemed 
the  craziest  gamble  that  we  had  ever  taken,  but 
it  was  our  only  chance  at  that  moment. 

The  hag  hopped  to  number  three  and  landed 
safely,  and  Nao  took  Chico's  place.  Our  nerves 
were  on  a  tension  just  then.  The  Golden  One  was 
praying  softly,  and  we  were  pleased  that  she  was 
praying.  We  had  a  firm  conviction  that  we  wanted 
all  the  protection  that  prayers  could  bring  at  that 
minute. 


256  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"Now,  Gung!"  cried  Templeton.  "Don't  take 
your  eyes  from  the  spot  where  the  girl  is  standing, 
and  spring  for  it  the  moment  she  jumps  to  the  next." 

That  Hindu  was  shivering  like  a  Tamil  with  the 
ague,  but  he  moved  to  the  edge  of  the  morass  as 
Red  directed  him  to.  The  Mother  of  the  Years 
made  another  leap,  and  when  Chico  and  Nao  moved 
along,  Gung  offered  his  spirit  to  Buddha  and  made 
the  spring.  He  landed  with  a  mighty  splash, 
slipped  upon  the  step,  recovered  himself,  and  stood 
upright. 

"Good  boy!"  said  Templeton.  "Keep  your  eyes 
to  the  front  and  watch  your  next  landing-place. 
Now,  Lenford ! 

A  yell  came  from  the  jungle  as  the  old  woman 
landed  on  step  number  five,  and  I  was  a  bit  reck 
less  as  I  moved  to  the  edge  of  the  morass  and  jumped. 
The  mud  might  be  as  deep  as  the  Golden  Well  of 
Tingeran,  but  a  worse  fate  was  behind  us.  If  we 
met  death  in  the  morass  we  would  at  least  go  to 
our  graves  in  one  piece,  while  the  Panther  would 
hack  us  up  in  a  manner  that  was  not  nice  to  con 
template. 

It  was  a  curious  sensation  that  clutched  me  when 
my  feet  hit  the  mud.  A  horrible  fear  that  I  had 
miscalculated  the  distance  gripped  me  as  I  sank. 
A  cold  perspiration  came  out  upon  my  body,  and  I 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  GLOW-WORMS       257 

was  on  the  point  of  crying  out  in  terror  when  my 
feet  struck  a  flat  stone  and  I  stood  upright.  I  had 
successfully  covered  one  tenth  of  the  journey. 

"Can  you  jump  and  carry  the  sword?"  I  cried 
back  to  Templeton. 

"Sure,"  he  answered.  "Keep  your  eyes  in  front 
of  you  and  don't  worry  about  me." 

Gung  sprang  to  number  three  as  the  line  moved 
ahead,  and  I  landed  squarely  upon  the  spot  he  had 
left.  Fear  for  my  own  life  left  me  at  that  moment. 
A  horrible  dread  lest  Templeton,  carrying  the  sword, 
should  miss  his  footing,  came  upon  me,  and  it 
required  a  great  effort  on  my  part  to  keep  my  eyes 
upon  the  figure  of  Gung  immediately  in  front  of  me. 

"Are  you  all  right?"  I  asked,  as  I  heard  Red 
splash  heavily  in  the  slime. 

"I'm  all  right,"  he  answered.  "Don't  speak  too 
loud,  the  brutes  are  close  to  us." 

Out  of  the  night  came  a  howl  that  told  us  that 
the  horde  was  on  our  trail,  and  Gung  had  hardly 
left  the  perch  in  front  of  me  when  I  sprang  for  it. 
The  deadly  blowpipes  were  in  our  minds  at  that 
moment,  and  the  fact  that  we  would  have  our  backs 
turned  to  the  sharpshooters  made  the  thought  of 
acting  as  targets  more  unpleasant. 

"Don't  get  excited!"  said  Templeton.  "Take 
it  easy !  The  old  lady  is  on  number  seven." 


258  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

"I  wish  I  was  there,"  I  breathed.  "This  frog 
game  is  too  slow  when  that  crowd  is  behind  us." 

Gung  took  another  hop  and  I  followed  him.  So 
far  there  were  no  steps  missing.  Nao's  prayers 
came  back  to  us  as  she  breathed  them  softly  into 
the  night,  while  the  Hindu  uttered  a  strange  little 
invocation  each  time  he  found  the  stone  step  under 
his  sinking  feet.  I  guess  that  Gung  was  telling 
Buddha  he  would  never  leave  Banjermassin  for 
the  rest  of  his  life  if  he  got  back  safe  from  the  trip. 

Fear  for  the  sword  made  my  hair  prickle  every 
time  Templeton  took  a  leap  in  the  rear,  and  I  knew 
that  Chico  was  crazy  with  anxiety  about  the  blade 
as  he  hopped  away  in  front  of  us. 

I  struck  number  six  and  Red  gave  a  big  sigh  of 
relief.  "The  old  woman  is  on  number  ten,"  he 
breathed.  "There  are  no  breaks  in  the  path. 
Glory  be!  we'll  beat  them  yet!" 

Slowly,  carefully,  one  after  the  other,  we  hopped 
from  one  stone  to  the  other  as  we  made  for  the 
black  rock.  Once  Gung  nearly  broke  the  chain. 
His  feet  slipped  upon  the  eighth  rock  as  he  landed 
upon  it,  and  his  yell  of  fear  went  into  the  night. 

"That  will  bring  them  on  us  now!"  cried  Tem 
pleton.  "Hop  along,  you  idiot!  You'll  get  a 
dart  in  your  back  if  you  unloose  another  yell  like 
that." 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  GLOW-WORMS       259 

Gung  took  number  nine  like  a  toad  on  the  home 
stretch,  and  I  followed  on  his  heels.  A  cry  came 
from  the  shore,  and  Chico,  standing  on  the  rock, 
urged  us  to  make  speed. 

"They're  coming!"  he  whispered.  "Quick,  Red! 
Quick!" 

Templeton  nearly  landed  on  top  of  me  as  I  sprang 
upon  the  black  rock,  and  we  rushed  madly  forward 
to  the  spot  where  the  hag  was  standing. 

"Where  is  the  passage?"  cried  Chico.  "Where 
did  she  go?" 

The  Mother  of  the  Years  had  slipped  into  an 
opening  about  four  feet  wide  in  the  side  of  the  rock, 
and  we  rushed  in  without  pausing  to  investigate. 
The  moonlight  had  shown  us  the  headhunters 
upon  the  very  path  down  which  we  had  followed  the 
ancient  female  to  the  sea  of  mud,  and  we  had  no 
desire  to  make  a  close  examination  of  any  spot  that 
offered  us  a  haven  from  the  poisoned  darts. 

"We  must  keep  together,"  cried  Red.  "Look 
out!  There's  a  light  in  front!  What  the  mischief 
is  it?" 

Chico  stopped,  then  he  stumbled  forward  with 
a  laugh  of  relief. 

"Glow-worms,"  he  answered.  "This  is  the  pas 
sage  —  the  Passage  of  the  Glow-worms!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  BLACK  CURTAIN 

IT  WAS  a  strange  sight  that  we  saw  in  that 
passage.  The  stalactites  hanging  from  the 
roof  of  the  place  were  covered  with  glow 
worms,  and  the  faint  blue  glimmer  startled  us  as  we 
followed  in  the  footsteps  of  the  hag.  There  were 
millions  of  the  insects.  The  dampness  of  the 
tunnel  attracted  them,  and  as  the  Mother  of  the 
Years  had  informed  Nao  that  the  passage  had  been 
named  more  than  a  half  a  century  before,  we  under 
stood  that  it  had  been  a  camping  place  for  the  insects 
for  many  years. 

"Ask  her  where  the  opening  at  the  other  end  will 
land  us,"  said  Morgan.  "This  is  a  witch  chamber!" 

Templeton  put  Chico's  question  to  Nao,  and  while 
the  hag  stopped  to  make  an  explanation  to  the  Golden 
One,  we  managed  to  manufacture  a  crude  torch  by 
setting  fire  to  the  bark-cloth  bandages  soaked  in 
fat  which  Nao  had  bound  around  Morgan  after  his 
battle  with  the  Spotted  Panther. 

"She  says  that  the  passage  will  bring  us  out  close 

260 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  261 

to  the  place  of  the  swinging  ropes,"  translated  Red. 
"We  cannot  dodge  that  spot.  We  must  pass  by 
it  in  order  to  find  the  path  that  will  lead  us  across 
the  Million  Mouths  of  Boorsh." 

"They'll  have  a  chance  of  getting  us  there,"  I 
said. 

"The  ropes  are  cut,"  said  Templeton. 

"But  the  blowpipes,"  growled  Morgan.  "The 
channel  is  narrow,  and  there  will  be  little  pro 
tection  for  us." 

"We  must  try  and  dodge  them,"  said  Templeton 
cheerfully.  "Luck  has  been  with  us  up  to  the 
present,  and  I  believe  it  will  stay.  They  know 
nothing  about  this  passage  and  they  will  never 
expect  us  to  come  out  at  that  point." 

The  hag's  bare  feet  were  pattering  on  ahead  of  us, 
and  we  slipped  and  stumbled  after  her  across  the 
rocky  floor  of  the  passage  that  was  wet  with  the 
moisture  that  soaked  in  from  the  buttery  mud  that 
completely  covered  the  rock  in  whose  hollowed-out 
interior  we  were  running.  The  glow-worms  were 
the  greatest  wonder  of  that  place.  They  covered 
the  stalactites  in  such  quantities  that  the  hanging 
pieces  of  rock  resembled  great  masses  of  glimmer 
ing  light. 

We  had  strange  notions  regarding  that  passage 
—  notions  probably  arising  from  want  of  food  and 


262  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

sleep  —  and  as  I  listened  to  the  patter  of  the  feet 
of  the  Mother  of  the  Years,  I  thought  that  we 
would  be  compelled  to  carry  the  Great  Parong 
of  Buddha  through  that  slimy  passage  for  all  eternity. 
The  echoes  sprang  up  and  raced  away  in  front  of  us 
—  raced  away  down  the  weird  tunnel  which  the  glow 
worms  faintly  illuminated. 

On  and  on  we  ran.  The  light  of  the  torch  flung 
strange  shadows  in  front  of  us,  lighting  up  the  roof 
of  the  place,  from  which  hung  the  stalactites.  The 
place  was  a  nightmare.  As  we  ran  we  pictured 
the  great  morass  above  our  heads,  separated  only 
by  a  layer  of  rock  the  thinness  of  which  was  evi 
dent  by  the  moisture  which  seeped  into  the  pas 
sage. 

"It  is  an  infernal  place,"  growled  Morgan. 

Templeton  nodded  his  head.  "But  we're  in 
luck,"  he  said.  "If  we  hadn't  spoken  to  the  old 
hag  we  would  never  have  escaped  from  the  kampong" 

The  passage  was  not  more  than  ten  feet  across 
at  its  widest  point,  and  its  height  rarely  exceeded 
eight  feet.  Here  and  there  it  narrowed  so  that  as 
we  stumbled  along  we  could  touch  the  rocky  sides 
with  our  outstretched  hands,  while  the  roof  came 
down  so  close  that  we  ran  in  a  crouching  position. 
It  was  wonderful  how  nature  had  formed  that  strange 
tunnel  beneath  the  mud. 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  263 

"It  reminds  me  of  the  New  York  subways," 
said  Morgan,  "only  there  are  no  trains." 

"And  the  Panther  is  the  third  rail  that  we're 
scared  of,"  growled  Red. 

In  some  places  the  peculiar  formation  of  the 
tunnel  did  bring  remembrances  of  the  subways  in 
Manhattan.  Occasionally  the  torch  lit  up  a  section 
of  the  arched  roof  that  seemed  as  if  it  had  been 
chiselled  by  man. 

The  passage  did  not  move  directly  forward,  but 
wound  about  by  a  zigzag  route,  so  that  we  were 
convinced  that  we  would  have  to  travel  more  than 
six  times  the  actual  distance  which  lay  between  the 
hidden  steps  and  the  place  of  the  swinging  ropes. 

"We'll  never  get  out  of  it,"  said  Morgan,  after 
we  had  been  running  for  some  time.  "This  infernal 
place  runs  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth." 

"  We'll  get  out,"  said  Templeton.  "  Keep  running, 
man!  Keep  running!" 

"But  it  seems  without  end,"  said  Morgan.  "We 
will Suffering  grasshoppers!  what's  up?" 

Chico's  exclamation  was  caused  by  the  action  of 
the  hag.  The  Mother  of  the  Years,  who  had  been 
leading  the  procession,  stopped  suddenly.  Tem 
pleton  cannoned  violently  against  her,  and  Morgan, 
the  Golden  One,  and  Gung  collided  with  Red  be 
fore  they  could  pull  up. 


264  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

. , 

"What's  wrong?"  cried  Morgan.  "What's  the 
matter  with  her?" 

The  Mother  of  the  Years  uttered  a  strange 
whine  of  fear,  and  Morgan  grasped  the  torch  and 
held  it  up  high  in  an  endeavour  to  find  out  the 
cause  of  her  terror. 

"Look!"  cried  Templeton.     "Look!" 

It  was  then  that  we  saw  the  great  black  curtain 
that  effectually  barred  our  way.  The  thick  mud 
from  the  morass  was  oozing  slowly  down  through 
the  roof,  forming  a  shining  black  wall  immediately 
in  our  path,  and  passing  away  through  the  floor  of 
the  tunnel  into  some  underground  pit  of  which 
we  knew  nothing. 

The  tunnel  was  completely  blocked  by  this  black 
curtain,  upon  which  the  light  of  the  torch  shone 
as  we  stared  at  it.  It  was  a  terrible  sight.  We 
understood  that  the  strata  had  been  disrupted 
in  some  way  so  that  a  crevice  had  formed  in  the 
roof  and  also  in  the  floor  of  the  tunnel  through 
which  the  mud  flowed,  but  whether  that  moving 
barrier  was  one  foot  or  ten  feet  in  thickness  was 
the  great  problem  that  faced  us  at  that  moment. 

"Good  God!"  cried  Templeton.  "We  are  cut 
off!" 

As  we  stared  in  stupefied  wonder  at  that  spectacle 
our  minds  went  back  to  the  horde  of  savages  that 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  265 

we  had  seen  charging  down  toward  the  hidden  steps 
at  the  moment  we  entered  the  tunnel.  We  were 
in  a  trap.  Our  retreat  was  cut  off,  and  the  black 
barrier  effectually  prevented  us  from  going  forward. 

Quietly,  ever  so  quietly,  the  flowing  mud  passed 
before  us.  It  was  a  moving  curtain  that  rolled 
down  before  our  eyes  like  an  endless  strip  of  black 
velvet.  And  the  silence  with  which  it  flowed 
terrified  us.  It  made  no  noise  outside  a  slight 
gurgling  that  now  and  then  came  to  our  ears  from 
the  opening  in  the  floor  of  the  tunnel  through  which 
it  disappeared. 

The  hag  stood  and  spoke  to  Nao,  and  the  Golden 
One,  wide-eyed  with  terror  and  wonder,  translated 
to  Templeton. 

"She  says  that  it  was  never  here  before,"  growled 
Red,  translating  what  Nao  had  told  him.  "She 
thinks  it  must  have  been  done  by  an  dintu  to  block 
our  escape." 

"I  suppose  this  is  the  real  reason  why  the  tunnel 
has  not  been  used,"  said  Chico.  "This  probably 
happened  fifty  years  ago  and  the  hag  has  known 
nothing  of  it.  We're  trapped!" 

We  had  no  doubt  about  the  hag's  ignorance  of 
that  barrier.  Her  astonishment  could  not  have 
been  assumed.  Her  little  black  eyes  expressed  her 
terror  as  she  raced  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 


266  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

obstacle.  She  was  the  most  surprised  one  of  the 
party,  and  her  vanity  was  considerably  hurt  by 
the  happening.  She  had  promised  us  that  she 
would  lead  us  to  the  place  of  the  swinging  ropes, 
and  now  she  had  proved  herself  incapable  of  ful 
filling  her  promises. 

"We  are  done!"  cried  Morgan.  "We  might  as 
well  go  back  and  take  our  chances  with  the  mob." 

For  about  five  minutes  we  stood  and  stared  at  the 
obstruction  that  had  come  in  our  path.  Gung  was 
the  only  one  who  could  not  stand  and  look  at  it. 
Fear  loosened  the  muscles  of  the  Hindu's  knees 
and  he  fell  upon  the  floor  and  squirmed  as  he  had 
done  on  the  night  when  the  orang-utan  legion 
stampeded  the  Dyak  carriers. 

"Get  up!"  cried Templeton.     "Get up,  I  say!" 

But  Gung  could  not  get  to  his  feet.  He  was  a 
gibbering  idiot,  with  eyes  bulging  with  terror.  He 
rolled  around  on  the  wet  floor,  chanting  scraps  of 
prayers  to  every  saint  in  the  Hindu  calendar. 

Templeton  moved  close  to  the  curtain  and  thrust 
his  arm  into  it.  The  tremendous  weight  of  the 
falling  mud  bore  upon  his  muscular  forearm,  but 
he  held  it  steady,  and  thrust  it  forward  till  his 
shoulder  was  close  the  moving  cataract.  We 
watched  him  in  silence.  The  thickness  of  the  mud 
avalanche  concerned  us  at  that  moment,  but  we 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  267 

were  not  too  hopeful  regarding  the  chances  which 
Red  had  of  finding  out  the  breadth  by  the  test  he 
applied. 

"It  is  probably  a  couple  of  yards  through  to  the 
other  side,"  said  Chico.  "Perhaps  the  rest  of 
the  tunnel  has  been  swept  away.  Ask  the  old 
woman  how  far  does  she  think  we  are  from  the  end 
of  the  passage,  Red?  " 

Templeton,  still  with  his  hand  thrust  into  the  mud, 
put  the  question  through  Nao  to  the  Mother  of 
the  Years  and  then  translated  her  answer.  "She 
says  that  we  are  quite  close  to  the  opening  that 
will  bring  us  above  ground,"  he  said. 

"Well,  I  think  the  opening  has  been  swept  away," 
growled  Morgan.  "That  is  my  opinion." 

Templeton  stepped  back  from  the  mud  and 
looked  at  his  arm.  "I  think  it  is  just  a  thin  curtain 
flowing  through  a  crevice  in  the  roof  and  in  the  floor," 
he  said.  "If  I  can  judge  by  the  pressure  on  my  arm 
it  is  not  more  than  eighteen  inches  thick." 

Chico  stepped  forward  without  speaking,  and  he 
imitated  Templeton  by  thrusting  his  bare  arm  into 
the  curtain.  For  a  moment  he  stood  without 
speaking,  then  he  stepped  back  and  looked  at  Red. 

"I  believe  you're  right,"  he  said.  "I  have  a 
belief  that  the  tunnel  is  continued  on  the  other  side 
of  this  barrier." 


268  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

We  were  standing  in  a  little  circle  looking  help 
lessly  at  each  other.  The  hag  did  not  understand 
what  Templeton  and  Chico  had  said,  but  when  Nao 
explained,  she  brightened  visibly,  and  again  started 
to  chatter  furiously. 

"  How  can  we  test  it?"  asked  Morgan. 

"There  is  only  one  way,"  said  Red.  "That  is 
by  one  of  us  jumping  through  it." 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  there  was  a  strained  note 
in  his  voice  that  made  us  understand  that  he  fully 
realized  the  danger  to  the  one  making  that  test. 

Chico  Morgan  stepped  back  eight  or  ten  feet 
from  the  obstruction,  and  for  a  moment  we  did  not 
realize  what  he  intended  to  do.  Then  it  dawned 
upon  Templeton  as  he  looked  at  that  plucky  boy 
pulling  the  Hindu  out  of  his  way  so  that  he  would 
have  a  clear  run  at  the  mud  barrier  in  an  endeavour 
to  hurl  himself  through  it  on  the  possibility  of  the 
tunnel  being  continued  on  the  other  side. 

"Stop!"  cried  Red.  "Don't  be  foolish!  Let  us 
wait  a  moment!  We  might  think  out  a  way  of 
testing  the  actual  thickness." 

"There  is  no  way  of  testing  it  but  by  taking  a 
chance,"  said  Morgan  quietly.  "Don't  stop  me, 
Templeton!  If  I  don't  come  back,  you'll  know  that 
it  is  impassable." 

Now  as  I  write  the  story  of  Morgan's  bravery,  I 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  269 

ponder  over  the  cool  manner  in  which  he  proposed 
to  test  the  obstruction  that  blocked  our  path. 
There  wasn't  a  sign  of  fear  upon  his  face,  and  as  I 
held  the  torch  up  high  so  that  he  could  have  a 
clear  run,  I  noted  the  grim  smile  upon  his  clean-cut 
features.  It  was  the  old  confident  smile  with  which 
he  had  met  the  first  rush  of  the  Panther  when  the 
big  brute  sprang  at  him.  Fear  was  a  stranger  to 
Chico  Morgan,  and  in  no  moment  did  he  show  his 
tremendous  courage  so  well  as  he  did  in  that  eerie 
Passage  of  the  Glow-worms. 

"Look  out!"  he  cried.  "I  am  going  to  settle 
the  question!" 

I  opened  my  mouth  to  utter  a  final  warning  but 
I  had  no  time  to  speak.  Morgan  took  a  flying 
rush,  hit  the  curtain  of  mud  with  tremendous  force 
and  disappeared. 

We  experienced  a  horrid  choking  sensation  as  we 
stared  at  the  place  where  we  had  last  seen  Chico. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  blotted  out  of 
our  lives.  The  black  curtain  rolled  on  with  the 
same  slow  movement  that  had  held  us  spellbound 
when  we  first  saw  it,  and  our  imaginations  pictured 
Chico  being  borne  into  some  great  subterranean 
cavern  by  the  weight  of  the  falling  mud.  We  were 
stupefied.  We  were  unable  to  move  or  think. 
Our  throats  became  dry  and  parched,  and  in  my 


270  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

own  case,  I  know  that  I  could  not  have  uttered  a 
word  if  my  life  had  depended  upon  it.  That  moving 
barrier  was  death  itself,  and  I  wondered  dully  how 
we  could  have  stood  by  and  watched  Chico  commit 
an  act  that  we  were  certain  had  led  him  to  his  death. 

For  fully  two  minutes  we  stood  and  stared  at 
that  wall  of  mud,  but  those  two  minutes  appeared 
to  be  centuries.  The  Mother  of  the  Years  was 
making  a  curious  gurgling  noise,  while  Gung  still 
squirming  on  the  floor,  stared  at  the  obstacle  with 
bulging  eyes. 

But  it  was  the  expression  of  terror  upon  the  face 
of  the  Golden  One  that  held  me  that  moment.  Fear 
had  sprung  upon  her  and  clutched  her  in  its  grip. 
She  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  turned  to  stone  the 
moment  that  Morgan  had  disappeared  from  view. 

"Mother  o'   me!"    cried  Templeton.     "Mother 


Red's  exclamation  was  interrupted  by  a  happening 
which  set  our  hearts  pounding  madly.  The  curtain 
of  mud  was  disturbed  by  a  ball  of  filth-covered 
humanity  that  came  hurtling  through,  and  Chico 
stumbled  over  the  squirming  Gung  and  fell  upon  the 
floor  of  the  tunnel.  He  had  come  back  to  us ! 

We  fell  upon  him,  wiping  the  mud  from  his  face, 
the  Golden  One  and  the  Mother  of  Years  lending 
a  hand  in  the  work.  Nao  tore  a  piece  from  her 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  271 

wonderful  sarong  and  in  a  moment  the  spluttering 
Chico  was  able  to  breathe.  Then  we  sat  him  up 
and  waited  till  he  could  speak,  while  the  Golden 
One  held  his  hands  and  watched  him  with  eyes  that 
were  filled  with  moisture. 

"What  is  the  answer?"  asked  Templeton.  "Tell 
us!  Quick!" 

Chico  put  his  big  hands  over  the  little  hand  of  Nao 
and  patted  it  softly.  "  We  are  safe ! "  he  cried.  "  We 
are  safe!" 

"How  thick  is  it?"  questioned  Templeton. 

"Not  more  than  eighteen  inches,"  answered 
Morgan.  "The  tunnel  is  continued  on  the  other 
side,  and  twenty  yards  farther  on  is  the  opening 
of  which  the  Mother  of  the  Years  has  told  us." 

We  thrilled  as  we  listened  to  Chico's  story.  Once 
again  fate  had  been  kind  to  us  and  had  given  us  a 
chance  to  escape  from  a  position  that  looked  hope 
less.  A  moment  before  Chico's  return  we  were 
without  hope,  but  our  hearts  swelled  as  we  grasped 
the  fact  that  victory  was  on  our  side.  Once  through 
the  tunnel  the  only  danger  that  was  in  our  way 
was  the  guard  that  might  be  on  duty  near  the  place 
of  the  swinging  ropes,  which  we  would  have  to  pass 
in  order  to  reach  the  track  across  the  stretch  of  the 
ulcerlike  Mouths  of  Boorsh,  through  which  we  had 
wound  our  way  with  Nao  two  nights  before. 


272  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

Morgan  got  upon  his  feet,  and  still  holding  Nao's 
hand,  looked  at  Templeton.  "We  must  jump 
through  it,"  he  said  quietly.  "And  the  weight  of 
the  mud  makes  it  advisable  that  we  should  help 
the  women.  How  would  it  be  for  you  to  hold  the 
hand  of  the  hag  while  I  jump  with  the  Golden  One?" 

Templeton  looked  at  the  Mother  of  the  Years 
as  if  he  received  Chico's  proposition  with  some  dis 
favour,  but  with  a  grim  smile  upon  his  face  he 
explained  the  matter  to  Nao  so  that  she  could 
translate  to  the  old  woman. 

"Gung  and  Lenford  can  jump  by  themselves," 
continued  Morgan.  "Go  on,  Templeton,  get  ready. 
Jump  straight  through  with  all  the  strength  you  can 
put  into  your  limbs." 

Nao  explained  the  matter  to  the  hag,  and  the  old 
woman  walked  up  quietly  and  put  her  skinny  claw 
in  Templeton's  big  hand. 

"Now  for  it,"  said  Red.  "Mrs.  Methuselah  and 
I  will  lead  the  dance." 

The  big  Englishman  and  the  old  crone  walked 
back  a  few  yards  and  then  rushed  forward  at  the 
mud  barrier.  At  any  other  moment  the  sight  of 
that  crone  running  beside  the  tall  Britisher  would 
have  been  ludicrous,  but  at  that  moment  our  mirth 
was  chilled  by  the  strange  obstacle  that  barred  our 
path  to  liberty.  Fear  choked  our  laughter,  and 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  273 

we  watched  with  bulging  eyes  the  big  man  and  the 
old  woman  strike  the  barrier.  They  disappeared  as 
Chico  had  done,  while  the  curtain  of  mud  moved  on  as 
if  it  had  not  been  disturbed  by  their  assault  upon  it. 

For  about  two  minutes  we  stood  and  stared  at 
it,  then  Morgan  took  Gung  by  the  shoulders,  shook 
him  gently,  and  explained  the  task  that  was  before 
him.  The  Hindu  was  shivering  with  fear.  For 
the  moment  when  he  had  been  pushed  up  to  us  on 
the  slope  above  the  kampong  he  was  in  a  condition 
of  complete  collapse,  and  now  that  he  had  come  face 
to  face  with  another  terrifying  obstacle,  he  had 
broken  down  completely. 

"Gung,"  said  Chico,  gripping  him  by  the  thin 
shoulders,  "you  must  rush  at  the  curtain  and  spring 
clean  through  it.  You'll  do  it.  It  is  an  easy  matter. 
Come  back  here  and  take  a  good  run  at  it.  Don't  be 
afraid.  Templetonand  the  hag  are  on  the  otherside." 

He  dragged  Gung  back  to  a  distance  of  about  ten 
paces  from  the  curtain  of  mud,  turned  the  Hindu's 
face  toward  the  barrier,  and  gave  him  a  push  to  send 
him  on  his  way. 

Gung  gave  a  howl  of  fear,  charged  madly  along 
the  uneven  floor  of  the  tunnel,  and  sprang  at  the  mud 
wall.  I  have  a  vivid  picture  on  my  mental  tablets 
of  the  way  in  which  that  Hindu  disappeared.  Chico, 
holding  the  torch,  flung  the  light  upon  the  curtain 


274  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

of  mud,  and  the  Hindu  struck  it  with  legs  and  arms 
outstretched. 

"He  looked  like  an  old  woman  jumping  o\fer  a 
fence,"  said  Chico.  "Go  on,  Lenfordl" 

I  confess  that  I  was  as  terrified  as  Gung  as  I  faced 
the  obstacle,  but  there  was  no  possibility  of  evading 
that  jump.  I  took  a  short  run  and  sprang  wildly  at 
the  barrier,  struck  the  moving  curtain,  and  for  a 
moment  had  a  horrible  sensation  that  I  was  being 
sucked  down  by  the  avalanche.  The  mud  was 
suffocating.  The  buttery  mass  seemed  to  grip  one 
like  a  great  wet  hand,  but  before  the  downward 
suction  could  pull  me  below  the  floor  of  the  tunnel, 
I  had  broken  through  on  the  other  side,  and  fell 
full  length  upon  the  floor.  Templeton  and  the  hag 
lifted  me  to  my  feet,  and  before  I  had  wiped  the  mud 
from  my  face,  Morgan  and  the  Golden  One  were 
beside  us.  We  had  no  torch  then,  and  we  could  not 
see  each  other. 

"Are  you  right?"  asked  Templeton. 

"  I'm  right,"  said  Chico.     "  Where's  Lenf ord  ? " 

"I  am  here,"  I  answered. 

"Come  on  then,"  ordered  Chico.  "Do  you  see 
the  entrance?  It's  only  twenty  yards  away." 

"Where's  Gung?"  asked  Templeton. 

No  answer  came  to  the  query,  and  a  cold  chill 
gripped  us. 


THE  BLACK  CURTAIN  275 

"Gung!"  cried  Morgan;  "Gung,  where  the  devil 
a  re  you?  Gung!" 

There  was  no  answer  to  the  cry.  For  a  minute 
we  stood  in  the  darkness  without  speaking,  then 
Templeton  broke  the  silence. 

"  Did  he  jump  ? "  he  asked. 

"He  took  the  jump  before  Lenford,"  answered 
Morgan. 

"Well,  he  is  gone,"  said  the  Englishman  quietly. 
"He  didn't  come  through.  He  has  been  sucked 
below  the  floor." 

Morgan  foraged  in  his  pockets,  found  a  dry  match, 
and  scratched  it  against  the  wall  of  the  tunnel. 
The  light  flared  up,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  Gung. 
The  mud  curtain  was  slowly  unrolling  itself  like  an 
endless  strip  of  black  cloth,  and  we  shivered  as 
we  looked  at  it.  It  was  plain  to  us  what  had  hap 
pened.  The  Hindu,  in  his  weak  state,  had  been 
sucked  down  by  the  tremendous  weight  of  the 
falling  mud,  and  with  a  feeling  of  horror  we  five 
stepped  back  from  the  barrier  which  we  had  suc 
cessfully  overcome. 

"There  is  no  way  of  helping  him,"  said  Morgan, 
"and  we  must  go  on.  Come  along;  the  opening 
is  in  front.  I'm  sorry,  but  we  must  save  ourselves." 
And  with  a  sick  feeling  at  our  hearts,  we  turned 
from  the  black  curtain  and  rushed  forward. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

HOW  THE  PANTHER  CAME  BACK 

THE  opening  of  the  tunnel  showed  up  before 
us  like  a  bright  silver  dollar  as  we  rounded 
the  turn  in  the  passage  after  leaving  the 
mud  barrier. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Morgan.  "We're  right  now. 
Give  me  a  turn  at  carrying  the  sword,  Templeton; 
I'm  feeling  splendid." 

Red  turned  over  the  Great  Parong  to  Chico  as 
we  raced  up  the  little  slope  toward  the  spot  where 
we  saw  the  welcome  moonbeams.  It  was  long  after 
midnight  as  we  neared  the  round  opening,  and  the 
stillness  of  the  outside  world  seemed  to  impress  us 
curiously  as  we  crawled  out  upon  the  rocky  island. 
The  channel  was  barely  thirty  feet  wide  at  this 
point,  and  the  mangrove-covered  shoreline  on  the 
kampong  side  was  quite  distinct  in  the  moonlight. 
But  we  knew  from  the  landmarks  that  we  were  quite 
some  distance  from  the  spot  where  the  sleepless 
guardian  had  received  us  on  the  night  we  swung 
across  the  channel. 

276 


How  THE  PANTHER  CAME  BACK  277 

There  were  no  signs  of  the  Spotted  Panther's 
band,  and  with  a  feeling  that  we  might  pass  the 
danger  point  without  being  seen,  we  ran  forward  at 
our  best  speed,  taking  full  advantage  of  the  shelter 
which  the  scattered  boulders  afforded  us.  We 
were  between  two  evils  at  that  moment.  On  our 
left  as  we  ran  stretched  the  Mouths  of  Boorsh, 
unfordable  at  that  point  because  the  Dyaks  had 
discovered  no  path  through  the  many  shivering 
mouths,  while  on  our  right  the  channel  of  bubbling 
mud  separated  us  from  the  jungle  that  lay  close  to 
the  kampong. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  the  flight  that  the  pace 
seemed  to  tell  on  the  Golden  One.  The  wild  run 
through  the  night  had  tired  her,  and  as  we  neared 
the  place  where  the  ropes  had  been  suspended 
across  the  channel,  she  dropped  to  the  tail  end  of 
the  procession.  Chico,  carrying  the  Great  Sword, 
was  running  immediately  in  front  of  her,  while 
Templetonand  I  were  trotting  behind  the  old  woman, 
who  covered  ground  with  a  tireless  lope  that  as 
tonished  us.  That  old  hag  was  a  wonderful  ad 
vertisement  for  the  simple  life.  She  could  outrun 
a  wolf  with  those  skinny  legs  that  one  would  never 
associate  with  speed  or  endurance. 

The  Mother  of  the  Years  pointed  ahead,  and  we 
understood  that  we  were  close  to  the  narrow  neck 


278  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

of  the  channel,  where  the  followers  of  the  Panther 
would  probably  be  on  guard.  But  we  were  forced 
to  run  the  blockade.  Our  only  hope  lay  in  slipping 
quietly  by  this  danger  point  and  hurrying  across 
the  Mouths  of  Boorsh  by  the  path  which  the  Golden 
One  had  led  us  over  two  nights  before.  Any  delay 
was  abhorrent  to  us  just  then.  Luck  had  been 
with  us  on  that  strange  journey,  and  as  we  stumbled 
toward  the  point  where  One-Who-Never-Slept  had 
collapsed  when  Templeton  had  proved  himself  such  a 
skilful  marksman,  we  felt  certain  that  we  would 
get  by  in  safety.  We  thought  that  nothing  could 
stop  us  from  carrying  away  the  Great  Parong.  We 
thought  that  the  weapon,  like  the  magic  blade  with 
which  Attila  the  Hun  crimsoned  the  plains  of 
Europe,  could  never  be  taken  from  a  man  who 
wielded  it  well,  and  none  could  swing  that  blade 
like  Chico  Morgan  and  Red  Templeton. 

The  old  woman  glanced  at  Red  inquiringly  as 
we  turned  a  corner,  but  the  big  Englishman  waved 
her  on. 

"Never  mind  them!"  he  cried,  forgetting  in  his 
excitement  that  she  could  not  speak  English.  "Go 
straight  ahead  and  let  them  scream!  We're  on 
the  home  track  and  we  don't  care  for  a  million 
of  them." 

The   hag  dashed   around   a   big  boulder  in  the 


How  THE  PANTHER  CAME  BACK    279 

direction  of  the  baked  surface  of  the  morass,  and 
we  wasted  no  time  in  following  her.  The  landing 
place  where  the  watcher  had  guarded  the  swinging 
ropes  was  nearly  opposite,  and  we  were  anxious  to 
gain  the  shelter  of  the  rocks  behind  which  Tem- 
pleton  and  I  had  crouched  when  Nao  had  given  the 
signal  to  One-Who-Never-Slept.  If  we  reached 
those  rocks  we  would  be  safe.  The  track  across  the 
gurgling  quagmire  would  be  immediately  in  front 
of  us,  and  we  would  be  well  on  our  way  to  the 
Barito  before  the  Panther  and  his  followers  had 
discovered  the  hidden  stepping-stones  by  which  we 
had  made  our  way  to  the  Passage  of  the  Glow 
worms. 

The  old  woman  dashed  across  the  open  space 
opposite  the  big  tapang  tree  from  which  the  rope 
had  been  swinging,  and  Red  Templeton  followed 
her  into  safety  behind  the  rocks.  Morgan  and  I 
raced  swiftly  on  their  heels,  but  while  Chico  and 
Nao  were  still  upon  the  bare,  moon-washed  ridge 
of  stone  that  was  worn  smooth  with  the  countless 
feet  of  the  savages  who  had  swung  backward 
and  forward  across  the  channel,  a  yell  came  from 
the  other  side  of  the  river  of  mud,  and  we  knew  that 
our  retreat  was  discovered. 

The  yell  had  a  peculiar,  paralyzing  effect  upon 
me.  I  tried  to  keep  my  face  turned  toward  the 


280  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

morass,  but  the  tremendous  scream  of  rage  compelled 
me  to  turn  my  head  and  look  toward  the  shore. 
Rushing  down  the  slope,  up  which  we  had  climbed 
after  disposing  of  the  body  of  the  sleepless  one, 
came  the  Spotted  Panther! 

I  have  a  dim  recollection  that  Morgan  halted  as 
if  he  was  hypnotized  by  the  sight  of  that  charging 
savage.  And  I  know  that  the  Golden  One  turned 
and  watched  him.  The  knowledge  that  the  ropes 
were  cut  made  us  intensely  curious  to  know  what 
the  savage  would  do  when  he  reached  the  leaping- 
off  stone  upon  the  bank.  The  picture  comes  back 
to  me  vividly  as  I  write.  I  can  see  now  upon  the 
film  of  my  mind  the  mighty  form  of  the  Panther, 
and  I  remember  that  I  noticed,  as  he  dashed  down 
the  slope,  the  moonbeams  flashing  upon  the  Great 
Parong  of  Buddha  that  Morgan  carried.  Chico 
was  between  me  and  the  channel  of  mud,  and  nearer 
still  to  the  dividing  gulf  of  bubbling  slime  was 
the  Golden  One,  who  had  lagged  behind  from 
the  moment  we  left  the  Passage  of  the  Glow 
worms. 

No  one  spoke  as  the  Dyak  chieftain  dashed  down 
the  bank.  A  silence  followed  the  yell  —  a  curious 
silence  as  if  we  sensed  an  impending  tragedy.  The 
speed  with  which  the  brown  giant  was  racing  down 
the  hill  made  us  wonder  stupidly  regarding  his  inten- 


How  THE  PANTHER  CAME  BACK    281 

tions,  and  we  guessed  blindly  as  to  what  he  intended 
to  do. 

The  Panther  reached  the  edge  of  the  channel,  and 
Red  Templeton  gave  a  cry  of  surprise.  I  think 
Chico  and  I  echoed  that  cry.  The  sight  appalled 
us.  The  big  brown  man  crouched  as  he  reached  the 
edge,  then,  gathering  himself  together,  he  hurled 
himself  across  the  channel  of  mud ! 

I  do  not  think  that  any  athlete  since  time  began 
ever  made  a  leap  equal  to  the  one  the  Spotted  Pan 
ther  made  that  night  on  the  shores  of  the  Mouths  of 
Boorsh.  I  am  certain  that  no  one  ever  equalled 
that  great  jump.  The  Rajputs  tell  of  a  Mongol 
chief  who  sprang  across  a  great  chasm  in  the  Kara- 
koram  Hills,  but  I'll  wager  that  chasm  was  not  as 
wide  as  the  river  of  slime  across  which  the  chief  of 
the  Orang  Bukkit  hurled  his  great  body.  He  rose 
from  the  rock  like  a  winged  thing,  swept  over  the 
bubbling  depths,  and  landed  on  our  side  of  the  chan 
nel  with  a  full  three  feet  to  spare ! 

It  was  Red  Templeton  who  first  recovered  the 
use  of  his  wits.  The  sight  of  that  brute  hurtling 
through  the  air  had  paralyzed  our  thought  centres, 
and  it  was  only  when  Templeton  gave  a  cry  of  warn 
ing  that  we  recognized  the  danger.  The  Golden 
One,  being  at  the  tail  end  of  the  procession,  was  the 
closest  of  our  party  to  the  Panther,  and  as  he  rushed 


282  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

toward  her,  we  realized  that  Morgan  could  not  reach 
the  side  of  the  girl  in  time  to  save  her  from  the  kris 
that  flashed  in  the  hand  of  the  gigantic  savage. 

Chico  Morgan  realized  the  impending  calamity 
at  the  moment  that  Templeton  cried  out  his  warn 
ing.  Morgan's  revolver  was  empty,  and  death  was 
springing  toward  Nao  with  mighty  leaps.  The  girlv 
was  so  stunned  that  she  was  unable  to  run  from 
the  attacking  giant.  The  silvery  whiteness  of  the 
Panther's  face  struck  terror  into  her  heart,  and  her 
limbs  lacked  the  strength  to  carry  her  toward  Chico 
so  that  he  would  have  an  opportunity  of  obstructing 
the  murderous  rush  of  the  savage. 

It  was  then  that  Morgan  acted.  He  swung  the 
Great  Parong  of  Buddha  around  his  head  till  it 
made  a  halo  of  silver  light  as  the  moonbeams  kissed 
its  shining  blade,  then  he  loosened  his  grip  and  sent 
the  Great  Sword  flying  through  the  air  at  the  leaping 
Panther! 

I  shall  see  the  picture  of  that  flying  blade  in  my 
dreams  for  all  time.  It  haunts  me.  I  wake  in  the 
night  gripped  by  that  same  agony  that  held  me  at 
that  moment.  I  shall  dream  of  the  incident  till 
I  die.  The  Great  Sword,  released  from  Chico's 
grip,  drove  toward  the  Panther  like  a  spear  of  light. 
And  the  big  savage  seemed  to  sense  death  in  its 
approach.  He  gave  a  cry  of  fear  that  was  shut  off 


How  THE  PANTHER  CAME  BACK          283 

abruptly  as  the  point  struck  him  in  the  breast  with 
terrific  force,  and  he  staggered  backward.  Temple- 
ton  sprang  forward,  but  Red  was  too  late.  The  edge 
of  the  river  of  mud  was  close  to  the  Panther  when  the 
blade  struck,  and  the  force  with  which  Chico  hurled 
the  weapon  drove  him  over  the  brink.  When 
we  reached  the  side  of  the  channel  of  black  slime 
there  was  not  even  an  air  bubble  to  denote  the  spot 
where  the  Spotted  Panther  had  disappeared  with 
the  Great  Parong  of  Buddha  driven  deep  into  his 
broad  chest! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

LOVE    RULES    THE    WORLD 

IT  WAS  the  voice  of  the  Mother  of  the  Years 
that  roused  us  from  the  stupor  that  fell  upon 
us  when  the  wonderful  sword  disappeared  from 
our  sight.  Something  seemed  to  have  snapped 
in  our  brains  when  we  saw  the  Spotted  Panther 
reel  backward,  and  we  were  oblivious  to  all  danger 
as  we  stared  at  the  black  mud.  We  had  thrown 
ourselves  full  length  upon  the  smooth  rock,  and  we 
stared  in  wide-eyed  horror  at  the  mud  that  swirled 
around  in  curious  eddies  that  had  a  snaky  appear 
ance  in  the  moonlight. 

The  hag  was  calling  one  word  into  the  silent  night, 
and  that  word  brought  a  group  of  the  Panther's 
warriors  to  the  other  side  of  the  channel.  And  the 
meaning  of  her  chant  became  plain  to  us  as  she 
repeated  it  over  and  over  again.  She  had  used  the 
same  word  in  speaking  of  Gung  when  he  had  been 
brought  forward  as  a  sacrifice,  and  we  understood 
in  a  vague  way  that  she  was  shrieking  out  the  news 
that  we  had  chosen  the  Panther  as  a  sacrifice  in  the 

284 


LOVE  RULES  THE  WORLD  285 

ceremony  connected  with  the  closing  of  the  Mouths  of 
Boorsh.  And  we  understood  more.  As  we  glanced 
at  her  skinny  arms  that  flailed  the  night  air  that 
was  filled  with  all  the  strange  odours  of  the  East, 
we  knew  that  she  was  asking  the  awestruck  group 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  channel  to  be  patient 
as  the  great  quagmire  would  become  solid  ground 
the  moment  the  sacrifice  was  accepted. 

Red  Templeton  gripped  my  shoulder  and  shook 
me  till  my  scattered  wits  returned.  Chico  Morgan 
was  standing  beside  Red,  his  arm  supporting  the 
Golden  One,  and  their  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
Mother  of  the  Years,  whose  shrill  shouts  went  out 
like  red-hot  wires  into  the  stillness  that  seemed  to 
come  upon  that  place  the  moment  the  Panther 
disappeared. 

"We  had  better  get  away  before  they  lose  their 
temper,"  said  Red  speaking  in  a  strange,  quiet  tone. 
"They  are  liable  to  hurt  somebody  if  a  miracle 
doesn't  happen  around  here  within  the  next  few 
hours." 

"But  the  sword?"  I  gurgled.  "Couldn't  we — 
couldn't  we  try " 

"Nao  says  the  channel  is  deeper  than  the  big 
tapang  tree  in  the  clearing,"  interrupted  Templeton. 
"We  cannot  recover  it.  We'll  leave  the  old  woman 
to  soothe  them  while  we  sneak  away  quietly." 


286  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

I  shall  always  remember  the  journey  across  the 
morass  where  the  green-edged  mouths  quivered  as 
we  came  close  to  them.  And  of  one  incident  in 
that  walk  I  have  a  particularly  vivid  recollection. 
Halfway  across  that  place  of  terror  I  walked  so  close 
to  one  of  those  quivering  mouths  that  the  thing  man 
aged  to  throw  over  me  a  peculiar  fascination  so  that 
I  was  unable  to  turn  away  from  it.  I  tried  to  cry 
out  to  Templeton,  but  my  tongue  refused  to  utter 
the  words.  And  the  green  mouth  slobbered  as  my 
footsteps  shook  the  flaky  crust  that  surrounded  the 
aperture.  I  had  a  belief  that  it  was  laughing 
jovially  at  the  fact  that  its  weird  power  was  dragging 
me  toward  it. 

It  was  Chico  who  saved  me  from  the  green- 
lipped  ulcer.  He  came  swiftly  behind  me  and 
dragged  me  back  from  the  very  edge  of  the  thing. 

"Shake  yourself  together,  Lenford,"  he  said, 
when  he  had  dragged  me  to  a  safe  place.  "Forget 
the  sword,  boy.  We  have  a  long  way  to  go  before 
we  get  to  Banjermassin." 

But  I  could  not  forget  the  Great  Parong.  Those 
shivering  mouths  appeared  to  mock  our  failure  as 
we  followed  Nao  along  the  path  that  twisted  like  a 
serpent  between  their  greedy  lips.  And  the  gurgling 
noises  struck  terror  into  our  hearts.  The  place  was 
vicious.  Those  ulcerlike  openings  were  possessed 


LOVE  RULES  THE  WORLD  287 

of  a  strange  hypnotic  power  that  terrified  us.  I 
think  that  the  stoical  Morgan  and  the  stolid  English 
man  felt  that  power  before  we  reached  solid  ground. 
When  the  fringe  of  the  jungle  came  toward  us  as  we 
neared  the  place  where  we  had  lain  and  watched 
the  two  pigs  go  down  in  that  morass,  we  four,  Temple- 
ton,  Morgan,  Nao,  and  I,  started  to  run,  and  despite 
Nao's  protests  that  we  were  endangering  our  lives 
by  moving  at  any  speed  over  the  caked  surface,  we 
could  not  control  our  legs.  The  fear  sprang  upon 
us  at  that  moment.  The  terror  of  that  place,  which 
had  been  growing  since  the  night  we  crossed  it, 
broke  out  of  bounds  now  that  our  thoughts  had  been 
withdrawn  from  the  Great  Parong,  and  we  were 
crazy  men. . 

The  Golden  One  called  out  to  Templeton,  but 
we  refused  to  obey  Red's  order  when  he  translated 
her  message. 

"Stop!"  he  cried.  "She  says  that  we'll  break  the 
crust !  Stop !  We'll  all  go  down  if  we're  not  careful ! " 

But  we  could  not  stop.  Gibbering  terror  was  at 
our  heels  and  we  could  not  control  our  legs.  I  had 
the  belief  that  the  mouths  were  reaching  out  to  each 
other  to  engulf  us,  and  every  now  and  then  I  would 
spring  wildly  into  the  air  as  my  imagination  fooled 
me  into  the  belief  that  new  mouths  were  forming 
beneath  our  feet. 


THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 


Even  Templeton  ran  after  he  had  screamed  the 
warning  of  the  Golden  One.  Our  flight  became  a 
mad  stampede  in  which  caution  was  thrown  to  the 
winds.  The  solid  ground  loomed  up  in  front  of  us, 
and  we  had  not  sufficient  control  over  ourselves 
to  cover  the  intervening  distance  at  a  safe  gait. 

I  passed  Templeton  in  that  wild  race.  I  out 
stripped  Chico,  who  was  running  by  the  side  of  the 
Golden  One.  The  shore  reached  out  to  us  and  we 
could  not  stop.  There  was  safety  beneath  the 
silent  trees  of  mohor  and  sandalwood  that  stood 
upon  the  solid  ground  and  watched  us  as  we  raced 
madly  toward  the  shore,  our  souls  flayed  with  the 
ten-thonged  whip  of  fear  that  our  imaginations 
laid  upon  us. 

I  heard  the  Golden  One  give  a  scream  of  fear, 
but  I  didn't  look  back.  I  couldn't.  The  shore  was 
only  a  few  feet  away,  and  I  'flung  myself  forward. 
And  even  then  the  terror  did  not  leave  me.  I 
crashed  through  the  vines  and  ran  on  till  I  had 
placed  fifty  yards  between  myself  and  the  morass. 
Then  I  flung  myself  on  the  grass  and  waited.  I 
had  proved  myself  a  coward  in  the  face  of  the  un 
canny  mouths  that  slobbered  as  we  rushed  by. 

Chico  Morgan,  with  the  Golden  One  upon  his 
shoulders,  staggered  on  to  the  little  clearing  where 
I  was  resting  my  fear-stricken  limbs,  and  as  I 


LOVE  RULES  THE  WORLD  289 

glanced  up  at  the  girl  I  understood  the  reason  for 
the  scream  of  terror  which  I  had  heard  as  I  reached 
the  bank.  As  Chico  laid  her  down  upon  the  grass 
she  reached  out  and  attempted  to  kiss  his  hands. 

i" Don't!  Please  don't!"  cried  Chico.  "Keep  a 
stiff  upper  lip  and  we'll  pull  through." 

"Did  she  —  did  she  slip  into  one?"  I  asked. 

"Nearly,"  answered  Morgan.  "We  managed  to 
catch  her  by  throwing  ourselves  full  length  upon 
the  crust."  Then  he  lifted  the  girl  upon  her  feet, 
and  with  Red  and  me  following,  ran  forward  on 
the  path  that  led  to  the  cross. 

It  was  some  time  in  the  forenoon  when  we  reached 
the  stone  cross  in  the  jungle,  and  it  was  only  then 
that  I  managed  to  shake  myself  free  from  the  stupor 
which  had  fallen  upon  me  when  the  Great  Parong 
disappeared  in  the  channel  of  mud.  I  came  to  my 
senses  when  Nao  asked  me  by  signs  to  kneel  beside 
Red  Templeton  and  Morgan,  and  I  promptly 
obeyed  her  command.  I  didn't  pray,  but  I  listened 
while  the  Golden  One  made  the  same  soft  little 
prayer  that  she  had  sent  into  the  still  air  on  the 
morning  we  met  her  there.  I  know  that  Chico  Mor 
gan  prayed,  and  so  did  Templeton.  I  saw  the  latter 
while  still  upon  his  knees  take  from  his  bosom  the 
little  miniature  of  Evelyn  Courtney  which  he  had 
gazed  at  on  the  morning  when  the  man-hound  was 


290  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

hot  upon  our  trail  as  we  lay  in  the  cave  above  the 
kampong.  And  it  was  then  that  I  realized  that 
there  was  something  in  the  world  greater  than  riches. 
Templeton  had  forgotten  his  disappointment  as 
he  thought  over  the  one  who  waited  for  him  in 
Banjermassin,  and  Chico  Morgan  was  returning 
thanks  for  the  strength  which  had  enabled  him  to 
send  the  Great  Parong  of  Buddha  into  the  breast 
of  the  Panther  when  he  was  leaping  forward  to 
kill  the  one  he  loved.  Great  is  love.  I  realized 
as  I  knelt  and  watched  the  two  men,  who  were  as 
courageous  as  lions,  the  truth  which  the  Persian 
poet  sang: 

"The  rose  tree  and  the  lotus  bloom 

Because  we  love  each  other  so, 
The  light  from  your  eyes  makes  the  stars 
That  swing  high  in  the  heaven's  glow, 
And  'tis  the  love  of  such  as  we 
That  makes  the  seasons  come  and  go." 

It  was  four  weeks  after  the  morning  when  we  knelt 
at  the  little  stone  cross  in  the  jungle  that  we  reached 
Banjermassin.  Evelyn  Courtney  was  waiting  for 
us  in  the  bungalow  within  the  Dream  Garden,  and 
as  she  escorted  us  into  the  room  where  Red  had  shown 
us  the  Chalice  of  Everlasting  Fire  we  found  Courtney 
sleeping  off  an  opium  debauch  on  the  couch  he  had 
occupied  when  Gung  told  us  the  wonder  story  of  the 


LOVE  RULES  THE  WORLD  291' 

treasure  stolen  by  Enrique  de  Gama  and  carried 
up  into  the  dark  hills  by  the  Orang  Bukkit. 

Courtney  roused  himself  when  he  heard  us  talking 
and,  recognizing  Templeton,  he  gave  a  maniacal 
laugh  and  sat  upright. 

"Did  you  —  did  you  get  anything?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Red. 

"Treasure?"  gasped  Courtney. 

"Yes,  treasure,"  said  Templeton  quietly,  and  he 
pointed  to  the  Golden  One,  who  was  holding  the 
hand  of  Evelyn  Courtney  as  they  sat  in  the  window 
seat,  side  by  side. 

"But  the  sword?"  cried  the  opium  smoker. 

"We  missed  the  sword,"  said  Red,  without  show 
ing  the  slightest  regret  in  his  voice.  "It  was  not 
decreed  that  we  should  get  the  sword." 

Very  briefly  he  told  of  our  trip,  and  when  he  had 
finished,  the  opium  smoker  laughed  loudly  and  made 
horrible  grimaces. 

"I  knew  it!  I  knew  it!"  he  cried.  "The  things 
are  cursed,  Templeton !  The  Chalice  —  the  Chalice 
of  Everlasting  Fire  is  gone! 

"Gone?"  said  Templeton. 

"Gone!"  shrilled  the  opium  fiend.  "The  China 
men  at  the  opium  joint  stole  it  from  me.  Evelyn's 
fault  —  all  Evelyn's  fault !  She  wouldn't  give  me  the 
money  for  the  black  smoke,  so  —  I  took  the  chalice. 


292  THE  SPOTTED  PANTHER 

And  the  devils  stole  it  while  I  slept,  and  they've 
cleared  out  with  it.  The  things  are  cursed,  Tem- 
pleton.  You  are  lucky.  Lucky!  You  got  your 
stake  back  after  you  laid  it  on  the  gambling  table! 
Your  stake  —  your  life,  man!  Your  life!" 

The  maniac  burst  into  another  fit  of  laughter  and 
flung  himself  on  the  couch,  and  Red  Templeton 
took  the  hand  of  Evelyn  Courtney,  who  had  walked 
to  his  side. 

"He's  right,"  she  said  in  a  soft  whisper  that  I 
overhead  as  I  crept  away.  "You  might  have  lost 
your  life,  and  all  the  treasure  in  the  world  would 
have  mattered  little." 

Chico  Morgan  and  the  Golden  One  were  sitting 
in  a  dim  nook  in  the  hall  as  I  passed  out  upon  the 
piazza,  and,  with  a  curious  feeling  of  contentment 
stealing  over  me,  I  sat  down  to  breathe  the  little 
vagrant  puffs  of  air  that  came  from  the  river.  The 
East  seemed  very,  very  old  to  me  as  I  sat  there. 
Scents  of  musk  and  marigolds,  of  incense  and  jasmine, 
of  wet  earth  and  rotting  vegetation  stirred  strange 
thoughts  within  my  brain.  And  I  wondered  stupidly 
concerning  the  trick  of  fate  by  which  the  Great 
Parong  had  been  snatched  from  our  hands.  I 
pondered  long  over  the  matter.  The  winds  told 
of  many  things,  of  dark  and  wicked  deeds,  of  shame 
ful  acts  which  the  march  of  civilization  had  stamped 


LOVE  RULES  THE  WORLD  293 

out.  And  the  Great  Sword  was  connected  with 
those  acts  which  the  strong  hand  of  the  white 
man  had  made  impossible.  Then,  out  of  my  medi 
tation,  came  a  feeling  of  gladness,  a  feeling  of 
great  joy.  The  Power  that  rules  the  world  had 
prevented  us  from  bringing  the  sword  from  its 
dark  retreat.  The  big  blade  might  have  caused 
rivers  of  blood  to  flow  through  the  East,  and,  as 
the  minutes  passed  by,  1  became  convinced  that 
everything  had  happened  for  the  best. 

And  as  I  sat  there  feeling  that  the  death  of  the 
Panther  had  been  planned  by  the  Hand  which 
guides  the  universe,  I  heard  the  soft,  liquid  voice  of 
Nao  speaking  within  the  hall.  And  I  knew  that 
our  trip  had  not  been  in  vain.  The  soul  of  a  girl 
who  was  as  lovely  as  the  dawn  had  been  fighting 
for  spiritual  life  in  that  lonely  kampong  by  the 
Million  Mouths  of  Boorsh,  and  I  knew  that  Red 
Templeton,  Chico  Morgan,  and  I  had  done  our 
part.  Providence  had  a  mission  for  us  three,  and, 
in  a  blind  way,  led  on  by  the  lust  for  gold,  we  had 
worked  out  His  holy  will. 

THE   END 


THE   COUNTRY  LIFE   PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000309742    5 


